


The Perils of Dating a Werewolf

by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/pseuds/BootsnBlossoms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the chaos of the Skyfall Incident died down, Q resigned himself to being stalked by admirers from every corner of MI6. There was even a damned spreadsheet where Q Branch techs laid bets on which of the agents would get to Q first. The only agent who <i>wasn't</i> in the running was the senior Double O, James Bond.</p><p>Or was he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Date

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Stephrc79, Rayvanfox, and Honeybee221B for the beta work!

Field agents, Q had learned, were nothing if not tenacious. Of course they were. It was more than simply a job requirement; it was necessary for survival. MI6 field agents faced deadly threats and overwhelming odds on a daily basis. Without that strength of character, they would quit at best, defect at worse.

Naturally, character traits inevitably bled from one facet of life to all others, which meant that they applied the same tenacity to everything else in life — though not always to everyone’s benefit. For one thing, they weren’t detail-oriented and driven when it came to paperwork, unless it was _avoiding_ paperwork. Same with avoiding meetings, coming up with inventive excuses for destroying equipment, and generally doing whatever the hell they wanted, regs or not.

Q could have lived with all that. He’d been in government service for years. And it wasn’t as if he had to deal _directly_ with them. Any major issues, he took directly to Mallory.

Except for the stalking.

Well, perhaps _stalking_ was an extreme word. At first, the attention had been carefully balanced between flattering and baffling. Q assumed, naturally, that he was simply the target-of-the-month, since he was new. Every one of the field agents, from the newest courier to the most senior Double O, had come to find him at least once. Most came by twice, even three times.

Soon, Q was able to identify his most persistent... _admirers_. The courier who did the DC-Sydney-London route came by only once every three weeks, but she made up for her absences with such persistence that Q took to watching her schedule on his calendar and arranging all-day meetings whenever she was in town. Poor 009, cursed with an unlucky agent number, made Q his last stop before going out in the field and his first when coming back, cheerily announcing, “I’m not dead yet!” as if in hopes of getting a sympathy date.

And Q wasn’t the only one who noticed. His staff quietly started a betting pool to determine how he’d respond to any and all of their offers. Foolishly, they put the matrix up on the server, as if thinking Q wouldn’t find it. He was tempted to lay bets heavily in the “electrocute the next idiot who asks” column, but that was unfair — not to the agents, but to the sensitive electronic equipment in Q’s office. One good static discharge would cause tens of thousands of pounds of damage.

The only one who _didn’t_ pay Q a bit of attention was the senior Double O, James Bond. Oh, he did stop by once, after the Silva incident, to thank Q. He’d even gone to the effort of buying Q a mug to replace the one that had shattered when Silva had dropped a bloody train into headquarters. (The original mug had been a gift from Q’s brother; Q had never had the heart to admit that it had been destroyed, which made Bond’s gift accidentally very thoughtful and welcome.)

And then, he _never came back_.

As per Q’s new policies, Q assigned Bond his own field team and let them handle all contact. Q was copied on all after action reports, shook his head at the consistent cost-of-lost-equipment figures at the bottom of the spreadsheet, and thought nothing more of Bond. He rather _liked_ the invisible absentee agent simply because he wasn’t a bloody pain in the arse like the rest of them.

Then, on a particularly boring day, made notable only by its absence of explosions, Bond came striding into Q Branch with a confident smile and a small brown envelope under his arm. Q knew that he was just recently back from a mission gone well. The best kind of ‘well’ that could be expected from a Double O, in fact, where no one died, the bad guy landed in custody without any casualties — human or property — and he managed not to sustain any injuries significant enough for anyone to pester him about going to Medical.

He didn’t stop to greet any of the techs that batted eyelashes at him as he walked past, but fixed his eyes on Q and didn’t waver from the quickest path to where he was standing. He was dressed in a slightly rumpled grey suit, and his hair was spiked in a most interesting way from the plane ride, and Q couldn’t help but think that, with that grin on his face, he looked something like a little boy ready to do mischief.

It was strangely endearing — a thought which sent a prickle of alarm up Q’s spine. Double O’s weren’t _endearing_ by any stretch of the imagination. Were they?

“Welcome back, 007,” he said, straightening from where he was standing in the doorway to TJ’s office. He resolutely ignored the way TJ, one of his senior team leads, stared intently and then started typing. Probably pulling up the bloody spreadsheet.

“Thank you,” Bond said cheerfully. “I’d say it’s good to be back, but I’ll reserve that sort of enthusiasm for when it stops raining.” He took the envelope out from his arm and extended it to Q. “A present for you.”

Q’s retort — that Bond would be waiting a bloody long time for London’s weather to clear up — died as he stared at the envelope in confusion. “That’s not paperwork, is it? You didn’t actually complete your inventory return form... on time?”

Bond raised his eyebrow at Q. “I used the digital version. Filled it out, along with my AAR, on the plane ride back.” He shook the envelope lightly, and something jingled inside. “Go on, then.”

Had Bond been any other agent, Q would’ve been immediately suspicious. But because Bond somehow had never managed to get on his bad side, Q took the envelope, smiling in automatic thanks as he did. “You know you didn’t have to,” he said as he tore it open.

He’d been expecting... Well, he actually had no idea what he’d been expecting. The other agents had tried gifts as part of their stalking, though Q had refused every single one. He really didn’t feel like getting dragged before a review board for inappropriate executive conduct, and accepting one gift would leave him either obliged to accept them all or stuck playing favourites unintentionally.

So it was with some apprehension that he looked into the envelope, only to have his fears melt away in a sudden blaze of excitement. It was a knock-off arduino-style board with poorly-stamped markings in characters he couldn’t identify, much less read. “This is from your last mission,” he said, vaguely remembering Bond had been sent to Southeast Asia. “Did you get this at a market?”

“Not exactly,” Bond replied with a grin as he leaned casually against the nearest desk. “I found it when I raided the control room of the arms dealer. It’s about as beta as a prototype can be, but it still performed basic functions. I didn’t have time to do much more than ask it what the weather was, to open the wine cellar, and to deploy a pack of defence bots that looked more like vacuums than anything else, but I thought you might have fun with it anyway.”

“Defence bots.” Q blinked and looked at Bond in surprise. “This is RQOS? The stolen code?”

Bond straightened and walked over to where Q was rather reverently holding the stolen board. He bent over it, fingers brushing Q’s as he traced the edge. “The code, the circuitry map, the schematics for the bots. This was the only board I could find that even remotely resembles the schematics.” He looked Q in the eye, his own ice blue gaze sparkling with playfulness. “You’ve been trying to get your hands on this for months, from what I heard. For once, luck was on my side.”

Exhilarated, Q grinned at Bond. “This is brilliant. Exactly what I need to find out how they stole this from us. I can track the code revision — find out who sold it to them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond replied cheerfully. “Would you like a full rundown of what implementations I saw? How about over dinner?”

“That would be wonderful,” Q said, caught up in thoughts of more details that could help him further narrow down the leak. Only then did he realise Bond had said _over dinner_ , rather than _in a conference room_ or _in your office_. He blinked at Bond in surprise.

“Excellent,” Bond said with a pleased nod. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Q hesitated. He could refuse. He _should_ refuse. He searched inside himself, trying to summon up the knowledge that Bond had probably been biding his time as part of the game the agents were playing. He hadn’t irritated Q at all, which meant when he finally did figure out his perfect approach, Q would be more amenable to going along with it.

Q wasn’t naive enough to imagine that this was _coincidence_ , after all.

But after a moment, he realised he wasn’t irritated at all. Bond had played a slow, careful, clever game — and Q wasn’t blind enough to imagine this wasn’t a game, at least in part. But Q was young, single, and open to new experiences, and an older, worldly field agent — especially one Q had thought was emphatically heterosexual — was definitely a new experience.

Or Bond _was_ straight, and was just looking for a decent dinner on the company card so he could fill Q in on the code theft somewhere more comfortable than a conference room.

“Seven it is,” Q said, deciding he didn’t care which it was. Either he’d get intelligence and a good meal or he’d have a potentially pleasant surprise date. No matter which it was, he was definitely ahead of the game.

 

~~~

 

Bond pulled up to Q’s house and parked, though he didn’t turn off the engine right away. He’d all but tricked Q into coming out to dinner with him tonight, and he had to do this _just right_ to make sure that he’d have another opportunity. So far, the tomfoolery of his fellow Double O’s had been exceptionally useful to Bond; from them, he’d learned what not to do. Q didn’t like blatant stalking and sweet but obvious seductions. He liked to not be _bothered_ by people — overt pursuit, pointed questions, and direct offers of companionship were all repeatedly shot down not because Q didn’t like the agent or find them attractive, but because they were poorly timed and/or simply annoying.

Determined not to make the same mistakes as his colleagues, Bond focused on an approach that was designed to immediately delight rather than tempt. Bond wouldn’t tell Q, of course, but it had taken him _months_ to track down the arduino knock-off, weeks more to find a mission that coincided with its use, and days of reading up on RQOS command controls just so he could explore the system thoroughly before bringing it back. It wasn’t luck. It was persistence.

And all for what? One shot. Bond had exactly one shot with Q before he’d reveal the other side of his nature. He had to get it perfect, so that when Q was shown the very much _not_ perfect part that followed, Q would already have been firmly on the side of thinking favourably about Bond.

Bond sighed, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. The moon was waning rather than waxing, and Bond was more in control now than he would be again for a while. A lunar cycle, to be precise.

He just had to do this right, he told himself again firmly as he rang the doorbell.

Q answered in under a minute, giving Bond a smile as he said, “I’ll get my coat. Or would you like to come inside?”

Most of the other agents dismissed Q, either for his over-casual style of dress or his apparent youth. Bond himself had made that mistake, before Q had proven himself _interesting_ in a way that made Bond decide to do pay more attention. Q’s deceptive clothes were all designer labels, despite looking as if he’d stolen them from his grandfather’s attic. He didn’t give off the irritatingly self-centred hipster demeanour, which meant he’d spent that much money for some other reason.

Disguise was Bond’s first thought, and now he understood that he’d guessed correctly. Instead of the knitted tie, cardigan, and checked trousers, he wore crisp black and white. The trousers were high-quality wool, fitted perfectly to his slim hips, the break falling properly over polished black shoes. The white shirt was thick, soft linen, perfect for a dinner that could either be casual or nice. In this weather, a dinner jacket wasn’t required; he only needed a coat to keep the rain off.

“Good evening,” Bond greeted, debating the merits of going inside versus staying out on the porch. It was still raining, but Bond was determined to be the perfect gentleman. “I can wait while you fetch your coat.”

“At least come in out of the weather,” Q said, leaving the door open as he stepped back, revealing a small foyer with a second interior door, also open. Beyond, Bond could see a staircase leading up and a hallway. “Should I fetch a tie?” he asked over his shoulder as he went for a cupboard under the staircase.

Bond stepped through the doorway and glanced around without being overtly obvious. At first look, the foyer seemed plain: cream-coloured walls, no artwork or photographs. But the mouldings were ornate and free of dust, carefully matched to the balustrade in pattern, though the stairs and rail were both of warm, honey-toned wood. The glass inset into the foyer door was rippled — antique, Bond recognised, wondering if it was original to the house or a second-hand purchase. The floor was laid with large, sand-coloured tiles, and the spotless grout precisely matched the paint on the walls.

Off to the left, an archway let into a den. He could see the edge of a couch and a sleek black telly hanging on the wall, but what drew his attention was a substantial aquarium.

“A tie isn’t necessary,” he assured Q. “You’re quite striking without it.”

Q laughed and gave Bond a quick little smile over his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said a bit wryly as he took a coat from the cupboard. It wasn’t his oversized parka, but a much lighter raincoat with a plaid lining. Burberry — almost certainly not a knock-off, either.

“Allow me,” Bond offered, stepping up to take the coat. He suspected that Q didn’t quite know what to think about their dinner, and Bond had to make it clear that he was interested in Q beyond simple friendship. He held out his hands for the coat, smiling confidently.

The hesitation was barely there. Then Q handed over the coat and turned, nudging the cupboard door closed. “Thank you,” he said again. “Should I ask where we’re going, or would you prefer to keep it a surprise?”

Bond allowed himself a grin that Q couldn’t see as he slipped the coat on over Q’s shoulders, letting his hands drag along lightly — just enough to feel the contours of muscle underneath. He stepped close behind Q, and reached around his body to straighten his lapels. “It’s a surprise,” he murmured into Q’s ear, and was rewarded with a shiver so faint that Q probably hadn’t even consciously felt it.

Q laughed quietly and stayed still, not pressing back but also not pulling away. Only when Bond stepped towards the foyer did Q turn and smile at him. “I’m certain it’ll be every bit as nice as your earlier surprise,” he said, hazel eyes lighting up at the mention of the board. He swiped a hand over a small metal touchpad set into the wall in place of a light switch, and the hallway light dimmed, leaving the foyer the only bright spot.

Bond smiled confidently though he wasn’t _entirely_ certain Q was going to enjoy what Bond had finally selected for their first date. “I try,” he answered simply. “I’m glad you like the board. I’d ask if you’ve had any luck tracking the leak down, but I’m not actually terribly interested in talking about work tonight, are you?”

Q followed Bond out, closing the interior door. He left the foyer light on and went out into the rain, turning to lock the front door. “I _do_ have questions, but they can wait,” he finally answered, though he gave Bond a sly, sidelong glance. “As long as you’re sufficiently diverting, that is.”

“Oh, I think I have that covered,” Bond said, tapping the tickets in his pocket. “Do you play the piano?”

“It’s been years,” Q said, sounding baffled. He didn’t test the locks; he pocketed his keys, tugged his coat closed, and turned to regard Bond curiously. “Why? Is it something to do with my typing speed?”

“Not at all,” Bond said, holding his arm out for Q to take. “How long have you lived in London?”

“All my life.” Q wrapped a hand around Bond’s arm and pressed companionably close. He nudged a finger against Bond’s shoulder holster and asked, “Is that necessary?”

“You _are_ the Quartermaster, and I’m a Double O. The fact that we’re not acting on MI6’s behalf tonight doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for your safety,” Bond replied, looking over at Q. “Besides, have you _ever_ seen me without my gun?”

“Strictly speaking, I believe that’s _my_ gun,” Q said with a quick grin. “Unless you have another compact 9mm that you haven’t registered with MI6 — which I wouldn’t put past you.”

“I have no comment,” Bond said with a wry grin. “But this gun is the Walther.” He led Q towards his car and released Q long enough to open the passenger door.

“Now you’ll definitely have to distract me from worrying about wear and tear on company resources,” Q said, brushing his hand down Bond’s arm before he got into the passenger seat.

Delighted with the subtle flirtation, Bond said, “Tempting as you are, I should probably wait to distract you until we get there. As much fun as it might be to never leave your street, I do actually have rather nice plans.”

Q laughed, the sound relaxed and heartfelt, so different from the tight smiles that were the most he gave at the office. “The last time you called a plan ‘nice’, it involved explosives. I hope that’s not what you had in mind tonight. This is a new shirt.”

Bond couldn’t help but reach down to run a gentle thumb along the edge of where the shirt met Q’s neck and throat. “Don’t worry. Your shirt is in excellent hands.”

Q’s eyes closed for a moment; his smile never faltered. “I’m gratified to hear that,” he said, opening his eyes and looking up at Bond. When his gaze reached Bond’s hair, his smile turned into a grin. “You’re getting soaked. Get in the car, before you end up ducking Medical, saying ‘It’s just a cold’.”

Smirking, Bond pulled away. He closed the door and walked around the car to climb into the driver’s seat. “It’s only ten or fifteen minutes from here,” he informed Q as he started the car. “Ready for an adventure?”

Q snapped his seatbelt in place and looked Bond over before he turned his attention to watching the road. “Absolutely.”

 

~~~

 

The piano bar had a restaurant on the top level and the bar and piano on the main level. Dinner had passed exactly the way Bond had planned, with them seated at the best table on the upper level, in the perfect position for Q to see everything. They’d laughed and joked about music and adventure, among other things, until they’d finished everything but the bottle of wine, which Bond took downstairs with them.

Much to his delight, he’d found that, despite his apparent modesty, Q was an excellent pianist. They’d stuck their ticket in the jar in the hopes of being called up, and they had been within minutes. Together, they sat at the piano and played song after song, exchanging jokes with the competition, a somewhat famous local pianist who was always ahead of them, but repeated ‘A for effort!” and other annoyances the whole time.

It was hours before they made it back to Q’s house, and Bond helped Q out of the car with absolute confidence in his choice of a first date. “Was I sufficiently distracting?”

“That all depends if you’re going to walk me to the door, say goodnight, and leave,” Q said, taking hold of Bond’s arm before he started for the front porch.

Bond chuckled quietly, perfectly happy to be done with polite distance. He led Q up the stairs to the house, then let go of Q without actually moving. He stayed close to Q’s back and nuzzled at Q’s ear while he dug for his key. He heard a soft exhale, not quite a sigh, and felt Q press gently against his chest before retrieving the key. As Q unlocked the door, he tipped his head back just enough for his hair to brush against Bond’s cheek.

The locks disengaged in a series of soft clicks. “I keep intending to replace them with electronics, but I never seem to have the time,” Q said, stepping away from Bond reluctantly. He pushed open the foyer door and swiped the touchpad on the wall, bringing the lights up to a dim glow. “Can I get you a drink? Or coffee?”

“No thank you; I think I’ve had enough to drink for the evening,” Bond said, advancing on Q. Bond grinned as he shed his coat to hang on the hooks by the door, then started working at Q’s jacket buttons. “Tell me you enjoyed yourself there.”

“I did.” Q turned to let Bond help him out of the coat. “You have very talented hands.”

“It’s too bad I promised to be gentle on your brand new shirt,” Bond said with teasing light strokes over the front of the shirt. He reached up and flicked one of the buttons open, then traced the hollow of Q’s throat that he been hiding under the stiff fabric. “I suppose I’ll just have to be creative.”

Q shivered, eyes closing briefly. “Tour of the house now or later?” he offered quietly, taking the coat from Bond’s hand. He reached past and hung it by the door, looking directly at Bond.

“Later,” Bond suggested, taking a step closer to Q as he released another button. He didn’t stop caressing Q’s skin, but leaned down for a tentative kiss, only brushing his lips across Q’s, then lightly biting at the bottom lip, before pulling back.

Q smiled as if pleased with the choice. He lifted a hand, fingertips tracing over Bond’s jaw, sliding back to curl around his nape. “Upstairs, then? Or would you prefer to pretend that we’ll be content to settle for the couch?” he asked teasingly.

“Definitely upstairs,” Bond said before leaning in for another kiss, this one in no way tentative. He pulled Q close to him and kissed him firmly, completely, exploring his mouth without hesitation even as his hands slid down Q’s back to pull at where his shirt was tucked into his waistband.

When the kiss ended, Q laughed. “Good. The couch is damned uncomfortable.” He took Bond’s hand and tugged him towards the stairs.

Bond knew he should tell Q. Now was probably the time, for a variety of reasons. But as Bond followed Q to his bedroom, he decided to wait. Just until they were done. As long as he explained before morning, they’d be fine.

It would be fine.

 

~~~

 

Q was used to waking in a tangle of blankets, pillow pulled down from the head of the bed so he could wrap his arms around it. He opened his eyes long enough to recognise the sated heaviness weighing him down. Despite the sunlight glowing through blinds he’d forgot to close, he smiled.

 _James_ , he thought, closing his eyes and hugging the furry pillow close to his chest.

He opened his eyes.

He didn’t own a furry pillow at all. And he _definitely_ didn’t own a furry pillow that was moving. Breathing.

He lifted his head to toss his fringe out of his eyes, and then let out a yell he couldn’t contain, despite the danger. Potentially _lethal_ danger. Because the furry pillow wasn’t the surprise delivery of a fur coat or some odd sex toy James had snuck into the bedroom some time in the night. It was a bloody dog. A _giant_ dog, all tan and grey and black, easily as big as Q himself.

It watched, resting its head on its paws, staring at Q with soulful eyes as Q scrambled back, kicking free from the blankets in a panic. It wasn’t just big. It was bloody _enormous_ , with pointed ears and ice blue eyes and — _oh, god_ — fangs. Long, deadly fangs.

Q’s feet hit the floor, and though some little corner of his mind told him not to run, because predators chased things that ran, he couldn’t stop himself. The hallway door was past the dog — _the wolf_ , something inside him whispered — so he ran to the ensuite, thinking if nothing else he could crawl out the tiny window above the bathtub.

Where the _fuck_ was James?

Q heard a thump as the dog-wolf-thing jumped off the bed and trotted lazily after him. Then the door, which Q hadn’t fully shut in his haste to leave the room, squeaked open to admit the wolf. It trotted forward, nails clicking on the tile, head bowed. It whined, then lay down on all fours in front of Q, ears laid back.

“Right,” Q said, wishing he had his glasses. Or Bond’s gun. Or his own taser. Or even a bloody fireplace poker. He didn’t even have _pants_. He took a slow step back, and when the beast didn’t spring up at him, he took another step. Then he reached back to grab a towel, telling himself he could fold it around an arm to block any attempted bites, though he wrapped it around his waist instead.

The creature slowly sat up, mouth lolling open as it panted happily. It came back up to all fours, watching Q, then crossed the few steps between them with careful, measured steps. Q shifted his weight to step back before reminding himself to stand his ground — not that the reminder helped keep him calm. The beast didn’t stop until it was right next to him. It sat and ducked to nudge at Q’s hand with its muzzle.

The first touch made Q’s heart jump. He was suddenly very aware of those teeth near his hands — the hands he needed to type. He swallowed and said, “Right,” again. He dragged in a shaky breath and tried to pet the beast on its head, thinking it might have a hard time biting him with his hand back between its ears. “Good, uh, dog.”

Bond had to have let this _monster_ into the house. He was probably downstairs, snickering to himself at the thought of Q waking up with it. That was just the sort of thing a bored agent would do.

The thought was surprisingly painful. He _liked_ Bond. Had last night been so awful that he’d felt compelled to do _this_?

His next inhale was sharper. Bond must have. He’d made a point of caring about Q’s safety last night, or at least pretending to. And now, if he’d let this dog in, that meant the thing had to be trained. He tore his eyes from the dog and looked into the bedroom. The house was old; the floors creaked. Any minute now, Bond would come strolling in, expecting to find Q cowering in the bed.

But instead of Bond immediately appearing, the dog turned and walked to the door. It looked over its shoulder at Q, as if expecting him to follow, and went into the bedroom.

“You’re trained.” Q tucked the towel more tightly around his waist. “Of course you are.” He followed the dog out, giving it a warning glare when it got near the bed. “No!” he said sharply. When the dog looked at him, he pointed at the floor and said, “Stay.” He had zero experience with dogs, but all of them had to know such basic commands.

Obediently, the dog didn’t get up on the bed. Instead, it trotted to the opposite side of the bed, across from Q.

Then the strangest thing happened.

As Q watched, it started melting into a man-sized shape, bones and skin and fur blurring together until it coalesced into an upright person.

 _James_.

“No,” Q said, taking a step back. He was prepared to accept a great deal from any of his field agents — Bond most of all — but not _this_. “Absolutely not.” He thought he should go looking for projectors or mirrors or whatever Bond had used to dose him with hallucinogens, but he couldn’t look away from Bond. Not yet. He had to make it crystal clear that this _was not acceptable_.

“I’m sorry,” Bond said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to shift. It was late, and I was tired, and it happens sometimes.” He held up his hands but didn’t move towards Q. “I was going to tell you last night, but you fell asleep, and you were so bloody adorable that I didn’t want to wake you.”

“No,” Q repeated. And then, because Bond didn’t seem to be getting the point, he added, “This _isn’t done_. You’re not a —”

And he faltered, because there was absolutely nothing sane he could say to finish out that sentence.

Bond looked at him ruefully. “I should probably explain.”

“Explain? You should _stop_!” Q insisted irrationally, refusing to entertain the logical conclusion of the dog — the _wolf_ — and the word ‘shift’ and the fact that there was no technology in the world that could do _this_ here, live, without a whole Hollywood soundstage worth of equipment. “You cannot _possibly_ stand there, after last night, and expect —” He stopped again as he realised that whatever Bond was now, he had been last night, and the confusion hit hard enough to steal his breath. “This isn’t _fair_ ,” he complained. “I _like_ you.”

Bond’s expression softened, and he lowered his hands. “You do? Because this doesn’t have to change anything. I have been, well, _this_ , since the first time I met you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Q snapped. “There is no _possible_ way you’re a — a —” He finally gestured at where the dog — the _wolf_ — had been sleeping curled up against his chest. His mind kicked back into gear, and he said, “Medical would never let you walk around like that!”

“Oh wouldn’t they?” Bond said with a chuckle, circling around to move towards Q. “You can’t think of a single reason why having a werewolf on staff would be useful to —”

Q found his breath and snapped out, “You are _not_ a werewolf! Whatever makes you — It’s some... _condition_.”

“It’s definitely a condition,” Bond said with a shrug. “I got bit in the Navy. It doesn’t go away.”

“You _can’t_ be,” Q said, struggling to keep down his sense of disappointment. “They’re not real. It’s not possible.” Without thinking, he reached out a hand to Bond, and only when their fingers touched did he think he should probably be scared. Either Bond was insane and therefore dangerous or he really was a werewolf, which was an obvious threat. But Q couldn’t bring himself to think of Bond that way. He closed his fingers around Bond’s hand and inanely asked, “Have you tried to stop?”

Bond looked at their joined hands and smiled sadly. “Yes.”

Q took a deep breath, feeling suddenly guilty. “You got bit?” he asked, lifting a hand to touch Bond’s bare chest. He couldn’t help but search his skin for anything like a dog — _werewolf_ — bite, but all he saw were the same scars that had become so familiar last night.

“A long time ago now,” Bond said, slowly pulling Q back to the bed. Q climbed onto the mattress with him, rearranging the towel around his waist out of habit. Bond twisted over the covers to settle his head in Q’s lap, then reached to guide Q’s hand to a tangled knot of scar tissue just above his hairline behind his ear. “Bastard nearly took off my ear.”

“Does it still hurt?” He combed his fingers through Bond’s hair, gently rubbing the scar when Bond didn’t flinch at the touch.

“Not anymore.” Bond slowly started to relax under the touch, eyes fluttering shut. “I can control it most of the time. The shift, I mean. But when my guard is down, when I’m happy and relaxed and not really conscious, sometimes it happens without my permission. But the wolf itself is always under my control.”

Q’s hand went still; he’d wondered if the scar still hurt, but... He went back to petting Bond’s hair and said, “Is it — Would you rather? Be a wolf? Not always, but sometimes? I’m not allergic.”

“Not really. Sometimes. It’s fun to roam free and uninhibited.” Bond looked up at Q and smiled. “But right now, in this moment, I much prefer naked human bodies.”

Not quite able to hide his sigh of relief, Q leaned down, somewhat tentatively, and kissed Bond’s face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you for being on the bed.”

Bond opened his eyes to look at Q incredulously and slowly started to laugh. He twisted and pulled Q down against him, then rolled him underneath his own larger, heavier body. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” Bond said sincerely, looking down.

 _Werewolf_ , Q thought, meeting Bond’s eyes. It was impossible, but that apparently didn’t mean anything. Besides, Q had faced impossible before, and he’d always found a way — eventually. And while he was no expert with biology, and doubted that he could actually help Bond with his condition, it wasn’t as if Bond had _asked_ for it.

“I suspect it would have made our date significantly less diverting,” he said truthfully, wrapping his arms around Bond’s body. “A werewolf? Really?

“Afraid so,” Bond said ruefully. “It’s not so bad,  he said with a shrug. “Once you get used to it.”

“Can you — Is it like in the movies?” Q asked curiously. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, he couldn’t help but wonder about the details. “Does the moon affect you? Do you have a... half-wolf form?”

Bond settled into a more comfortable position over Q, lying between his legs, leaving himself propped up on his elbows to look down at Q. He searched his expression for a moment, then leaned down to bite and kiss over Q’s collarbone. “There are some things the movies get right,” he said. “The moon makes me more on edge, more prone to instinctual behaviour. I do have a half-wolf form — the only one where my bite is dangerous.” He pushed himself a little further up Q’s body and, as if to prove his point, started licking and biting at Q’s neck.

Q couldn’t quite hide his flinch, though his hands tightened on Bond’s back, rather than trying to push him away. “You’re not... I mean, it could be awkward if you bit me,” he said anxiously. “For one thing, I’d probably end up reacting inappropriately at work the next time someone ‘forgets’ to turn in a ‘destroyed or damaged’ form for a bloody helicopter.”

Instead of laughing, Bond stiffened. “Never,” he said with sudden vehemence. “I would never let this happen to you. Ever.”

“All right,” Q said soothingly. He ran his hands down Bond’s back, lifting his head to kiss his jaw. “I trust you.” And that was the damndest thing. Werewolf or not, he actually did.

After a moment Bond relaxed again. He settled back down on Q and started his gentle lines of kisses and bites again, moving down Q’s body. “Any more questions?” he murmured into Q’s stomach.

Q let the motion drag his hands up Bond’s back to settle in his hair once more. “If I asked you nicely, would you stalk 004 one night? Just a little? Perhaps with some well-timed growling?”

Bond hummed in amusement. “Absolutely. Anything you want.” Then he started kissing his way down Q’s stomach again, landing with a sharp drag of teeth over the blade of Q’s hip.

 _A werewolf_ , Q thought as he let out a shuddering breath. At least he wasn’t a werewolf like the ones in the damned movies. He’d have to give this serious thought, but later. Right now, he was perfectly content with Bond, werewolf or not.


	2. Second Thoughts

Q was fine. Bond was a werewolf, and Q was unharmed, despite going on a lovely date and having wonderful sex and waking up with a giant bloody wolf in his bed. Bond hadn’t tried to bite Q in his sleep, nor had Q seen any hint of fur, fangs, or claws after Bond had returned to his customary human form.

None of which made Q feel any better. He’d experienced morning-after-regret more times than he cared to think, but never like this.

He sat in the sanctuary of his office, door locked, pretending to listen in on a conference call, though he had no idea who was actually on the line. He had his hands cupped around the mug of tea resting on his desk, and he was inhaling the fragrant vapour only because every time he tried to lift the damned mug, his hands shook violently.

Perhaps he wasn’t entirely fine after all.

But damn it all, _should_ he be? Bond — James Bond, 007 — was a _bloody werewolf_. A movie monster. What the fucking hell was next? Sparkling vampires?

The thought was enough to make Q want to curl up in a ball and hide under his desk.

The worst of it was, he _liked_ Bond. He really did. Their date had been incredibly fun, even if they were — in the sober light of day — rubbish at piano duets. And Bond had been a wonderfully considerate lover, which really shouldn’t have surprised Q, given Bond’s reputation. There hadn’t been one single hint that he was a... a...

Well, Q really couldn’t think the word ‘monster’, because there’d been nothing monstrous about him at all. Q supposed he could consider it in the same light as he would any other medical condition — high blood pressure, perhaps. Or, given its apparent contagious nature, a rare, peculiar STI.

Oh, that was no comfort. He’d had _sex_ with a werewolf. And while Bond might agree with the movie assessment that he was only ‘contagious’ when biting in his hybrid form, Q didn’t like those odds at all.

He wasn’t about to misuse the office network, despite having designed most of its security himself. Instead, he got out his tablet, a hacked Android device, and accessed the private network he’d set up using relays and extenders hidden in the tunnel ceilings. The speed was abysmal, but the network was entirely private.

No longer even pretending to pay attention to the conference call, he cast a quick glance at the door to verify that it was still locked. Then he opened the browser to Google.

He could only imagine the horrors lurking in these particular shadowy corners of the internet. But somewhere among all the legends and myths and who-knew-what-else, there had to be a consistent thread of facts. After all, Bond himself had ticked off most of the major boxes: lunar influence, half-wolf and full-wolf shapeshifting, transmission through bite... What did that leave? Vulnerability to silver? A predilection for terrorising American teenagers at summer camp?

Should he investigate the ballistics of silver bullets? God, he didn’t want to _shoot_ Bond. As terrifying as it was to think that he’d slept all night beside a werewolf, he couldn’t help but want to... well, date him.

And more.

Taking a deep breath, Q opened the touchscreen keyboard. _Werewolf sex_ , he typed, and swallowed nervously. This was ridiculous. Surely there wouldn’t be —

 _Oh_ , he thought, staring at the list of hits. Goodreads and Youtube, he could write off, along with anything involving True Blood or Urban Dictionary. But the first hit looked promising — a site called Archive of Our Own. A bit nervously, he tapped the link.

 

~~~

 

Bond walked into MI6 later that day with a sense of trepidation. Everything had gone as well as one could expect last night and even this morning, but this was a new day at the office. No more naked bodies and hot mouths to distract Q from his fear. Q’s mind was probably racing with questions, and Bond wanted to be there to either answer them or distract him.

Never having been one to avoid a potential confrontation, Bond made his way to Q Branch first. The techs pretended not to pay attention, but he could feel the weight of their regard as he walked to Q’s office to invite him for a cup of tea. But apparently Q was engrossed in a project of some importance; according to the status display outside his office door, he was not to be disturbed. With a vague sense of unease, Bond headed to the sparring ring instead.

As he stripped and changed, Bond reflected on why he cared what Q thought about him in the first place. He wasn’t quite sure _why_ he had such a vested interest. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Q had confessed that he liked Bond, and Bond couldn’t help but share the feeling. All of his patience, his watching Q, his planning for the perfect first date — he didn’t just want to seduce Q. He wanted to keep him, at least for a little while.

But, Bond realised as he waited for an opponent to step in the ring, he had let himself change, damn his biology. He still had absolutely no idea how he had let it happen. He’d been thinking about it all morning, and even now, as he watched with vindictive delight as his opponent — a Section 20 soldier with something to prove — crumpled underneath him, he couldn’t shake his concern. There had only been a handful of times he’d changed without consciously willing it, despite what he’d told Q in an effort to not scare him off, and most of those times Bond had been under great emotional or physical stress. It had _never_ happened while asleep, wrapped around a lover.

Of course, Bond had never quite felt this, well, _possessive_ about someone before. Somewhere in his animal brain, Bond had decided Q was his. When Q had mentioned the possibility that Bond might try to turn him, he’d just barely been able to hold off an overwhelming sense of fury at the possibility. Q needed to be cherished and protected, not tainted.

And that, of course, was what Bond had assumed had happened. Somewhere in his subconscious he must have decided that he was better off able to protect Q as a wolf than as a human, and his body had made the transition without his permission. It would be frightening if he wasn’t always absolutely in control of himself.

Not that waking up in the morning, unexpectedly transformed, had been a natural or easy thing. He’d had a brief moment of blinding panic that the wolf, already always just there, hiding under the surface right under the skin, had finally taken over. It had taken several long, frozen minutes for him to take enough of a step back to give himself an assessment, and by the time he came to the conclusion that it was just an accidental shift, Q had woken up. At that point, he couldn’t just shift back without breaking Q entirely.

His second opponent stepped into the ring, but Bond couldn’t spare him his usual self-confident grin. He was too distracted by the need to go talk to Q. As he worked off his tension in the ring, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of cowardice. He couldn’t stand the thought of Q flinching away from him or, worse, looking at him with barely concealed fear. Of all the reactions Bond might expect from Q, fear would be the worst.

But as soon as his current opponent tapped out, Bond decided that there was no point in avoidance. He showered and changed quickly, then headed to Q Branch with the intent of asking him out to lunch.

Only to find that Q was _still_ behind his Do Not Disturb order.

Which did nothing to help Bond calm his own uncertainty.

Three hours and several boxes of ammunition later, Bond left the firing range and returned to Q Branch one last time. Either Q would see him and they could talk about this, or he’d have to back off and let Q come to him.

As soon as the lift doors opened, he heard Q’s voice. “Go ahead. You two, switch everything over. Then you can take the servers offline. Check with upstairs, see if they need anything else off them, _after_ you disconnect. Then we can hold their photos and illegal music downloads for ransom,” he finished to a chorus of sly laughter.

Bond came out of the lift hallway and looked down the tunnel in time to see Q walking away from a group of people headed into a side room. He caught up with Q quickly; though he didn’t want to startle Q, he also didn’t want him to have time to retreat back behind his DND.

Busy day?” he asked quietly with a smile, touching Q’s elbow without actually taking hold of it.

Q flinched and scrambled back, wide-eyed. He said, “Bond,” before he cut off, mouth closing with a snap.

It was like being stabbed in the chest. Disappointment and hurt shot through Bond too swiftly to be controlled, and he stepped back, holding his hands up. It was crushing, and Bond wanted to escape immediately so he wouldn’t have to suffer any further outward sign of Q’s regret or fear. “Sorry.”

For a few seconds, Q didn’t say anything. Then he glanced at the surrounding tunnels, and his jaw went tight. “My office,” he said, and started walking quickly.

“Q,” Bond said quietly, even as he walked just behind him. “You don’t have to explain anything. Tell me to leave and I will,” he said, just a bit desperate not to be trapped in an office, Q trying and unable to hide his discomfort at being in a small space with Bond.

Q let out a huff, shoulders tense, and didn’t look back. “Not here,” he said under his breath, softly enough that a normal human wouldn’t have heard him at all.

Bond didn’t argue. He kept pace with Q but didn’t look at him, instead focusing on the echo of their footsteps against the tunnel walls. He purposely shut down all higher order thinking, not wanting to try and anticipate what Q wanted to discuss. It was over. It didn’t need to be discussed. Well, except for the part where Bond had to make sure Q never told anyone, ever, about what Bond was.

Q unlocked his office door and held it for Bond. He followed Bond inside, and then closed and locked it. Then, still silent, he crossed the dim room to his primary workstation, where he took hold of his monitor and spun it around to face Bond.

“Explain,” was all he said.

There were a half dozen programs on the taskbar — email, secure databases, and the usual array of MI6 programs. The only one that was open and visible, though, was an untitled document with a list of words in a neat column: _mating cycle, heat, alpha-beta-omega dynamics, knotting, child-bearing_.

Bond stared at the list, trying to process without letting any of his distaste and disbelief show through his expression. He looked up at Q, face schooled to careful blankness, and asked “We’ve only had one date.”

“Consider this your opportunity to explain,” Q said coolly, still standing on the other side of his desk.

A chuckle escaped Bond as he straightened away from the computer screen. “I’m afraid I can’t. None of that has any basis in fact. Well, obviously it does for normal wolves. Not werewolves, though.” He gave his most charming smile and added, “Sex is sex.”

Q’s eyes narrowed. He picked up a tablet, swiped his finger across it, and then offered it silently to Bond. It was open to a site Bond had never seen, despite his own somewhat tentative research into his condition.

“Of course, that’s all fiction,” Q said as Bond skimmed down the page, “but so are movies, and most — if not all — of that seems to have a basis in fact.”

Bond’s attention was caught by a rather alarming description of the werewolf’s penis forming a knot during intercourse with another man. “That sounds...” Bond shook his head. “I don’t... It doesn’t... There is no...” He gave up with a sigh and set the tablet down with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. “I’m a human. I started human, I spend most of my life in human form. Need I point out that we’ve _had_ sex.”

“Apparently, that’s —” Q waved a hand at the tablet. “And the full moon’s passed. But I _refuse_...” He gestured at the tablet again. “No. Absolutely bloody well _not_. And if you recall, I outrank you,” he said more forcefully, now glaring at Bond. “So you can damned well put _those_ ideas right out of your head.”

“These aren’t _my_ ideas,” Bond said incredulously, fighting the urge to call Q an idiot. “You’ve gone to the bloody internet for facts?”

“And where was I _supposed_ to go?” Q demanded before Bond could say another word. “It’s not as if the NHS has guidelines for this!”

“You could have _asked_ instead of hiding behind a Do Not Disturb order,” Bond responded, trying to hide his irritation and probably not doing the best job of it. “I’ve been trying to see you all day.”

Guilt flashed across Q’s face. “I had conference calls all morning.”

“Of course,” Bond said. “Though I’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that I do both text and e-mail.”

Q let out a sharp, annoyed huff. “And if you were planning” — he gestured at the tablet, refusing to even look directly at it — “I’m supposed to consider you a trustworthy source?”

Bond raised his eyebrow at Q, having lost the thread of the conversation somewhere in Q’s unwillingness to speak clearly. “Planning _what_ , Q? And yes, you should consider me a source of trustworthy information. Interpersonal relationship aside, I think I’ve earned that.”

Q flinched and turned away, crossing to the corner of the room where he had an electric kettle buried on a shelf between his computer books. “Who else here is...?” He gestured back towards Bond. “The other field agents? Any of the Double O’s?”

Bond stepped back and leaned casually against the wall, fighting the urge to cross his arms. He didn’t want the sort of closed body language that might make Q feel even _more_ suspicious of him. “Not that I’m aware of. But we don’t exactly have a club or a support group.”

“You’re the only one?” Q asked, looking back over his shoulder. He turned the kettle on and picked up a box of tea bags.

“I doubt it,” Bond said with a wry laugh. “But I’m the only field agent _that I know of_. Which doesn’t mean anything. Half of the agents could be, and I wouldn’t know it.”

Q dropped a tea bag into his mug — the one Bond had bought him after the Silva incident. Then, after a moment’s pause, he picked up one of the plain mugs and held it up questioningly to Bond.

Wary of startling Q any further, Bond stayed where he was and nodded. “Thank you.”

Q set the mug back down beside his and added a tea bag. Then, with his attention fixed on the electric kettle, he asked, “So, this _competition_ for me has nothing to do with...” He trailed off significantly. “It’s not some biological... imperative?”

The connections sparked in Bond’s mind and he couldn’t help but laugh at what Q was implying. “No. No, not at all. Double O’s are competitive by nature and have been trained to think of everything as a target. You’re gorgeous and brilliant and can stand up to any Double O. You’re” — Bond paused, struggling to think of an appropriate way to phrase it — “shiny.”

“Shiny,” Q repeated. He pushed up his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Then you’re really not part of their spreadsheet.”

“Spreadsheet?” Bond asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t know, but he could guess. “No.”

“And it’s not some” — Q faltered and, with fierce concentration, started pouring the water over the tea bags — “ _mating_ thing?”

“That’s a thoroughly repulsive idea,” Bond said with a shake of his head. “And I would have told you if it were anything other than attraction.”

Q exhaled again and set down the kettle. “All right,” he finally said as he poured sugar into both mugs. He picked them up and carried them to the desk, avoiding Bond’s eyes. “There’s no milk. I had to disassemble the refrigerator.”

“Thank you,” Bond said again. He took the mug from Q’s hand, set it down, then reached out to lightly tap Q’s chin so he could meet his eyes. “Promise me something? If you have questions about _anything_ , you’ll ask me first?”

Q had the grace to look embarrassed, though he let out an irritated huff and said, “You can’t tell me you handled this any _better_. You shouldn’t even _exist_ , you know. It’s a simple matter of physics, if not actual biology.”

Bond looked away, the memory of how he’d ‘handled’ the first few months after he’d been turned not one he wanted to relive. “No, I didn’t fare much better. Though that was before the internet, of course.” He took a sip of the tea, then put it down as his oversensitive tastebuds protested the sugar. “I was going to ask you to lunch, but it’s a little late for that now. Dinner?”

“I have more questions,” Q warned, cupping his hands around his mug. “I need to know everything. If not — It’s fine. You have every right to privacy. But if we’re...” He shrugged and sipped his tea. “Then I need to know.”

“Does that mean takeaway?” Bond didn’t so much ask as suggest, smirking at Q. “Your place or mine?”

Instead of smiling, Q frowned into his tea. “Mine,” he finally said, though he didn’t sound happy about it.

“Or not,” Bond said with a sigh. “You know what? You’ve had a lot to think about. A lot to process. Perhaps you need some time.” He gave Q his best reassuring smile. “You can text or —”

“I’m not one of you,” Q interrupted, his voice sharp with frustration. “I don’t interview people. I learn through trial-and-error and through my own research.” He put down his mug with a _click_ and finally met Bond’s eyes. “I don’t enjoy asking questions and having my answers filtered through my interpretation of someone else’s speech. But since obviously there’s no reliable” — he gestured at the tablet — “you’re the only source of information I have. So just... tell me you’ll answer my questions.”

“I’ll answer your questions,” Bond said without hesitation. “To the best of my ability. And if a demonstration is possible, I’ll do that so you can collect your information firsthand. But Q, you’re not under any obligation here. Just because you know doesn’t mean you have to stay. In fact, if this” — he waved his hand at the tablet — “is the only reason you want to continue with me, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Really, James? How did you expect me to take all of this?” Q demanded. “You spend months _not_ stalking me and _not_ finding every possible way to irritate me. We have a perfect night together. And then I wake up with you like _that_.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that,” Bond defended. Part of him wanted to gloat at the fact that he’d got everything right on their first date, but clearly this wasn’t the time. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. And the bitch of it was that he truly was sorry. About all of it.

Q sighed and looked down, tracing a finger over the handle of his mug. “I know. I mean, I’m sorry. I just keep thinking... if only it had been one of the others instead, I wouldn’t feel guilty for trying to figure out an aerosolised delivery method for colloidal silver or wondering about the ballistics of silver bullets. But because it’s _you_...” He shook his head.

Bond froze for a moment, letting the words sink in. Q was trying to figure out ways to kill him. Well, ways to kill _werewolves_ , but given that Bond was the only werewolf Q knew, it was impossible not to take it personally. He thought about a bullet filled with liquid silver shattering inside his body and felt a coldness seeping into his bones.

“It’s very practical of you,” he said. “And wise. You should know how to protect yourself.” Bond took a step back, knowing that there was nowhere else for this conversation to go at the moment. “I have some work to do. Send your questions to me as you think of them. I’ll talk to you later.”

Q gave him a startled glance before he looked back down as though desperate for a diversion. He nodded and automatically said, “Thank you,” as he dragged the tablet to his side of the desk. He almost tipped the monitor over when he turned it back into place.

Without looking back, Bond left the office. It was one thing to talk about and demonstrate how he shifted, or how his vision changed, or any of the other thousands of questions Q might have. But throw in a discussion of silver bullets or anything else whose sole purpose would be to kill him, and he got a little uncomfortable. He liked Q and trusted him, but still... he hadn’t survived _this_ long in _this_ job without having some sensibilities about such things.

 

~~~

 

Q sank down into his chair, wondering  what had just happened. How had he gone from explaining how Bond was different — _special_ — compared to the other agents to... well, to Bond walking out like that? And his ‘send your questions’... Did that mean they _weren’t_ going to talk over dinner?

This, he thought unhappily, was why he didn’t do _talking_. Books were either straightforward or written by idiots. And experimentation, especially with logical systems, led to a deep understanding that allowed Q to grasp anything from overall concepts to the most minute details. His aptitude was for computers, networks, technology, and science. Not people. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have stayed single this damned long.

God, he was going to end up making himself a robot companion, and then he’d be in therapy for years because he’d fallen in love with a damned overengineered toaster. At least it would make sense, though. He’d keep out all the confusing, illogical flaws.

He stared at the two mugs on his desk, thinking that he could probably lose himself in his work. There was more than enough piled up. Always a backlog. It was the tedious, boring stuff — mostly administrative — but it was better than sitting here sulking.

He turned off his tablet and closed the absolutely mortifying Word document without saving it. Really, what was Bond supposed to think he’d do today? Disregard the whole fur-and-fangs issue and cling only to the memories of their date and afterwards?

If only he had.

Well, there was no point in spending the rest of the day sulking about it. He got back up and picked up both mugs, no longer in the mood for tea he’d brewed only as a distraction. He carried them to the door, bumped it open with his hip, and headed for the break room, hoping someone would accidentally blow something up. A fire was always a good distraction. Hell, he’d even settle for a non-damaging chemical leak or maybe a runaway gun turret, as long as it was loaded with non-lethal rounds. If he got trapped into emergency paperwork all night, he’d never have to find out if he and Bond really weren’t going to dinner after all.


	3. Dinner After All

Sadly, there was no crisis. Where were all the idiot techs ignoring safety rules, the madmen with secret access to supposedly secure systems, even the stupid tourists who’d got detached from tour groups and wandered where they weren’t permitted? There wasn’t even a bloody jammed paper shredder, and by half past six, Q was ready to start breaking things himself.

 _Not productive_ , he told himself as he stared at his email. He considered creating new sorting filters, but even the thought of Inbox Zero couldn’t distract him. He’d leave and pick up takeaway and go sit at his house with nothing to distract him but his fish. Or maybe he should go out somewhere, though the thought of going out alone was galling. He could go to a nightclub and ignore everyone, or he could go to a pub and snap at anyone who tried to talk to him. For some reason, the idiots always thought that someone paying fierce attention to a tablet was an invitation to chat.

God, how he sometimes despised people. Of course, right at the top of the list was himself, for somehow botching up everything with Bond. He couldn’t even blame Bond for the whole werewolf thing. He certainly hadn’t asked for it — or so he’d said, at any rate.

He packed everything away — laptop, tablet, mobile, and the toughbook prototype he was building. It had no secure files or tech yet, so he thought he’d take it home in case inspiration struck in the middle of the night. He certainly didn’t expect to sleep. After one last check to ensure he’d logged out of everything, he left his office.

Most of the day-shift teams had gone home an hour earlier. Q looked out at the evening teams that were just getting started on their work, split evenly between mission support and R&D. He’d implemented two shifts of R&D to maximise use of lab space and increase efficiency, and he’d given the R&D teams flexible hours to avoid having to budget for night shift premiums. Mallory had actually been surprised to find that some techs preferred working nights.

Thanks to Mallory’s daytime bias, the rest of the building would be significantly less crowded than usual at this hour. Of course, that meant that if he did run into Bond, things could be... awkward. At least with other people around, neither one of them would be tempted to discuss anything inappropriate — or worse, start shouting at one another, which seemed to be the next expected step in the breakdown of their not-a-relationship.

At the very least, it seemed prudent to figure out where Bond was, so Q could avoid that sort of awkward public confrontation.

He put his bag back down and sat at his desk. All of the field agents’ mobiles were tracked. In the field, it gave the agents a lifeline — a means of being located and exfiltrated in case of an emergency. Within the building, it was the only way to ferret them out of hiding for meetings or mandatory visits to Medical or Psych.

Find Bond. Avoid Bond. A simple solution to an awkward mess... until he found Bond not somewhere public, but on one of the private testing ranges. Q wasn’t ready to confront Bond in public, but in private...

Maybe, just maybe, he could keep from screwing up long enough to repair the damage he’d already done.

 

~~~

 

Bond watched with satisfaction as the inner circle of the target vanished in a flare of burned paper. He set the sniper rifle down on the table in front of him and ran a reverent hand down the prototype scope that Danielle finally gave him to test after some persistent bugging.  It was truly a thing of beauty, and he couldn’t wait to try it in the field.

But documentation first. The testing range was equipped with all sorts of tools for measuring effectiveness and efficiency — ballistic radar, digital high speed video imaging, environmental sensors — but Bond liked to do it the old-fashioned way. He recorded range conditions, rifle type, and other relevant details on a paper form to give to Danielle, along with date and time so she could pull the range information from the servers, and closed the notebook with a snap. Then he headed down the range to collect the paper target.

When he heard the range door open, he felt a twinge of irritation. He’d specifically locked out the range for private use. “It’s not clear!” he shouted in case someone had ‘helpfully’ let in one of the green recruits to get some range time. He didn’t need to be shot, especially since it wouldn’t affect him.

But instead of a confirmation call from someone new, Q softly answered, “James?” He appeared a moment later at the far lane, leaning over the firing bench.

The high of shooting and being bloody brilliant at it had helped wear off the edge of discomfort from their earlier conversation. He gave Q a grin and held up an acknowledging hand. “I just have to fetch the target. One minute.”

“All right,” Q said, and disappeared back behind the benches.

Bond finished his walk to the end of the range and pulled the target free. He stared down at the target, wondering what Q was doing here. If he had more questions, that was fine. But hopefully it was more; Bond had every intention of renewing his offer of dinner if Q seemed open to it.

He walked back to the table, wishing Q were still in view so he could get a read on his mood. But he didn’t let himself broadcast anything but calm confidence as he set the target on the bench and walked over to where Q was waiting by the door. “Good evening,” he said with a smile.

Q gave him an odd look. He wasn’t armed, nor was he tensed and ready to run. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said uncertainly, looking around. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just — Are you, er, done with the scope?”

Whatever he’d come here for, it wasn’t the scope. Bond didn’t have to be a werewolf, able to pick up the subtlest hints by scent and sound, to know that. To give himself time, he started to remove the scope from the gun, trying to pick up on whatever Q was broadcasting.

Surprise and uncertainty were obvious in his body language. He obviously hadn’t expected Bond to greet him with friendly nonchalance, which made Bond feel a little guilty. In hindsight, perhaps walking out on their conversation probably hadn’t been the best thing to do, though it certainly was better than allowing himself to stay and grow even more defensive than he already had been.

But there was something else in Q’s demeanour, something that Bond couldn’t quite put a finger on. He stopped focusing on the visual and opened his _other_ senses — the heightened awareness he had as a werewolf. Fear, adrenaline, and lust were the easiest for him to detect, but none of those were driving Q at the moment. He hid a frown and looked back up, falling back on his agent training, to observe the more subtle hints of Q’s unhappiness.

“I’m sorry for the abrupt end to our earlier conversation,” he said after a moment. “I wasn’t prepared for that sort of discussion.”

It would take someone far more expert than Q to hide his expression of surprise. “You —” he began before he hesitated. “Are we — You’re _not_ angry?”

Bond sighed and straightened, giving Q his full attention. “No, and I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was. Being what I am, my reactions to certain things are more visceral than perhaps they should be. A calm, rational discussion of the best ways to kill me, after our conversation about demonstrations versus second-hand knowledge, wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“I don’t _want_ to —” Q shook his head and pushed a hand through his hair, a nervous tell that Bond knew meant he was out of his depth. “I was trying to say that you’re — that I’m glad it’s _not_ one of the others. Not that I’m glad it’s you. What you are, I mean — not you being you. With us.”

Bond chuckled, resisting the urge to put his arm around Q only because he didn’t know yet whether it would be welcome. “I didn’t actually quite follow that,” he said, slowly reaching out to run a thumb over the top of Q’s hand. “But I am fully aware that you don’t _actually_ want to kill me — I just needed space to convince the wolf instincts of the same.”

After a moment’s pause, Q turned his hand and let their fingers brush. “I’m afraid I’m even worse with” — he made a twitchy sort of motion at Bond with his free hand — “than I am with people. I’m sorry.”

Taking a chance, Bond laced his fingers through Q’s and gave him a gentle tug, pulling him closer. Q’s body language immediately shifted, going from uncertain and uncomfortable to relieved as Bond wrapped his arms around him. “Don’t be. This is fairly new for both of us. I think we can anticipate a certain level of minor turbulence, don’t you think?”

Q’s exhale was a quiet sigh, warm through Bond’s shirt. “I _am_ sorry,” he muttered into the fabric. “I know you wouldn’t — And everything I found this morning — I should have known it was absurd.”

“It’s all right. My very existence is absurd,” Bond said with a rueful smile he hid in Q’s hair. He turned his head to kiss Q’s cheek, for once indulging in slow and sweet, before pulling back. “Dinner?”

Q nodded, hair rustling against Bond’s face. “Dinner,” he agreed, stepping back with a self-conscious glance at the cameras. “Do you want to shower and meet me at — wherever? Or should I wait, and we can go together?”

Bond debated the merits of driving separately versus driving together. He like the idea of going back to Q’s house with him, given that Q had already mentioned that was his preference. If something happened, if he scared Q or otherwise needed to leave, Q didn’t live that far from transportation. Bond could easily walk home or take the Tube.

“Let’s go together,” he suggested, releasing Q so he could pack up the scope. “I need a few minutes to clean the gun and another few to shower.”

“I can set it in a parts cleaner and have one of the techs take care of the rest,” Q offered. “The evening shift doesn’t get as much practice handling weapons.” He gave Bond a somewhat tentative smile. “Text me when you’re ready, and we’ll meet in the garage?” he suggested.

Bond grinned. “Perfect. Thank you.” He carefully put the scope back in its box. “We’ll have to drop this off when we leave. I don’t want Danielle to think I’ve run off with it, no matter how tempting the thought is.”

“I can check it in for you. And I know how to find you, if it suddenly goes missing,” Q teased, finally giving Bond the relaxed, genuine smile that had so enchanted him the previous night.

Glad they’d put the awkwardness of Bond’s condition behind them, he kissed Q’s hair, gathered his notebook and target, and headed for the exit. “See you soon.”

 

~~~

 

Two hours later, Q led Bond into his house, saying, “If you’d put the food in the kitchen, I need to feed the fish.” He took off his raincoat and went to the under-stairs cupboard. He opened the door and took out a hanger, which he offered to Bond.

Bond set the takeaway bag on the table next to the door and took the offered hanger. “I saw you had a tank, but I didn’t look closely. What kind?” he asked as he shrugged out of his overcoat. He draped it on the hanger and leaned around Q to put it in the cupboard, pressing up against Q. He hadn’t actually imagined Q to be the type to own pets, but fish made sense. Low-maintenance, easy and inexpensive to replace. He wondered why Q didn’t have an automatic feeder.

“I’ve no idea,” Q said with a wry smile. He hung up his own coat and turned to go through the archway into the den. “My brother set it up. I know exactly how much to feed them and how to maintain the pump and lighting system. If anything goes wrong, I call him.”

“You have a brother?” Bond asked curiously as he toed off his shoes. Most senior agents had been hired by the former M — meaning orphans. It had been a while since he’d run into a not-strictly-administrative staff member who actually had family. He bent down to strip off his socks and left them draped over the shoes. Then he picked up the bag and headed to the kitchen, wondering if questions about family would be welcome. He went with a safer topic first, inviting Q to expand on the subject of his family only if he wanted to. “Do you actually like the fish?”

“They’re supposed to be calming. Good for the blood pressure,” Q said somewhat neutrally, raising his voice to be heard in the kitchen. Bond heard a plastic _click_ before the subtle electric hum increased in volume: the water pump, he assumed. “I’m not entirely sure that’s accurate, given the thought of what a hundred gallons of saltwater could do to my media centre.”

“A _hundred_...” Bond started to ask before deciding to see for himself. Had the tank been that big? He’d only seen a corner of it, and he’d admittedly been distracted. Curious, he left the food on the kitchen table then followed the sound of Q’s voice to the living room.

The couch faced a flatscreen telly mounted on the wall above a black shelving unit of computers and peripheral devices, including three different gaming systems. The aquarium in question was stuck against the side wall like an afterthought, partially blocking the path into the little dining nook off the kitchen, which was a shame. The aquarium was gorgeously designed, reminding Bond of some of his more exotic dives. It was a full coral reef in brown, yellow, and bright blue, with bright fish darting around it. The lighting created hints of shadowy nooks and brought out highlights in the coral. There wasn’t a hint of plastic plants or kitschy decorations.

“Before you ask, I have no idea,” Q said as he took a slender notebook from the cupboard underneath. He offered it to Bond. “Supposedly, all the fish in there are listed in here, if you’re interested.”

“Not really,” Bond said with a smile as he took the notebook, only to hand it back. “Being former Navy doesn’t actually mean I care for sea life much beyond aesthetic appreciation. It is a gorgeous tank, though. Your brother did a great job.” He gave Q a faint smile. “Does it help?”

Q avoided his eyes as he bent to replace the notebook. When he closed the cupboard door, the pump sounds muted. “I can’t quite figure out what to _do_ with them. He’s got a dog, which makes sense. I know what to do with a dog, even if I can’t _have_ one. Fish are just... there. And then they catch incomprehensible diseases and die, or the chemistry of the water shifts and they die...” He shook his head. “They don’t make sense.”

Bond nodded as he stared at the tank, mesmerized by the colourful flashes of cheerful but fragile life. “These creatures have been taken out of a vast world where the ecosystem can’t possibly be replicated and stuffed them in a tiny tank free of the chemistry, plant life, sunlight, and other environmental factors billions of years of evolution have made them need. It’s a forced microcosm of species that weren’t necessarily meant to exist so closely together.” He shrugged. “It’s no wonder that they don’t react well.”

“Oh, god. Now I feel awful,” Q said, eyeing the tank guiltily. “But he wouldn’t do that — not intentionally. He’s very aware of that sort of thing.”

“Your brother?” Bond asked curiously.

Q nodded. “Animal rights, environmentalism, all that. He’s vegan — the dog isn’t, but he says that wouldn’t be natural.” He shrugged. “He wouldn’t do anything intentionally cruel, even to fish. It’s probably just me.” He sighed, looking at the tank with a frustrated expression. “People or fish, it doesn’t matter. If it’s not a _system_ that behaves according to documented rules, I just... miss things.”

Bond reached over and took Q’s hand, thinking that was perhaps the best explanation of the problem of genius he’d heard yet. Just because people were brilliant didn’t mean they always understood the details of things. Creativity didn’t always mean a solid ability to interpret behavioural cues or other small indicators. “Good thing you have people like me and your brother to help fill in the holes in documentation, right?” He tipped his head towards the kitchen. “Hungry?”

With a sigh of relief, Q pulled away from the aquarium and went through the dining nook to the kitchen. “He’s much better with everything — people, animals, technology. Drinks in the fridge; get whatever you like,” he added as he went to one of the cupboards and started taking down plates. “Honestly, I’d get rid of the aquarium, but there’s actually proof, if you can believe it, behind his claim. Who would ever think to test the health effects of staring at _fish_?”

“He can’t be better at _everything_ ,” Bond said, finding it incredibly hard to believe. Better at reading people didn’t mean better at living. “You’re damned brilliant. That sensor-targeting grenade you rolled out last month was genius. I never would have made it out of that warehouse in Seoul if it hadn’t kept itself from going off until Mac stepped back in sensor range.”

Q grinned as he slid the plates over towards the takeaway bags. “That _was_ useful, wasn’t it?” he admitted, opening a silverware drawer. “I’m better at organised thinking. He’s more improvisational. He does very well as a contractor. If he’s stuck doing the same job for more than a few weeks — as in, three — he gets bored, and that’s more dangerous than _you_ getting bored.”

Bond laughed as he began pulling boxes from the takeaway bag. “An easily bored version of you. I can’t imagine.” He grinned up at Q from where he’d started opening the containers, trying to picture what the world might look like if Q were a bad guy rather than firmly on the side of good. It was a truly frightening thought. “That’s not true. I _can_ imagine, actually. It’s a good thing he’s kept busy, then. Wouldn’t want his name to cross my desk if he suddenly decides to take over the world.”

“Oh, no one would ever see him coming. Fortunately, he’s too lazy to put in that sort of effort.” Q brought the silverware to the table in the dining nook. “You don’t have any family left, do you?” he asked more gently.

Bond’s cheerful smile faded a bit. “No,” he said, focusing on the boxes. He took one of the spoons Q laid out and started to serve rice onto the plates, thinking about his parents, his aunt, his M. That was a path to morose self-pity if he dwelled on it too long, so he pushed the thoughts away with the ruthless efficiency of someone well-practised at avoidance. “What did you say you have to drink?”

“Oh. Um, wine, Coke, water — or did you want something stronger?” Q asked as he crossed behind Bond to open the fridge. “The wine probably isn’t up to your standards, I’m afraid. It all tastes the same to me, so I rarely splurge.”

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” Bond replied. “So your brother is vegan and you’re not? Does that cause problems for family dinners?”

“It’s just us.” Q shook his head and took out two cans of Coke. “So whenever we eat together, he gets a large salad and two dinners — which the dog and I share, while he gets the salad.” He brought the cans to the table, not bothering with glasses, and then came back to help Bond with the plates.

“I can’t imagine a life without steak,” Bond said as he finished dividing the food. “Or cheese. Or butter. _Everything_ seems to have butter in it. Or eggs. He must be very... committed.”

Q gave Bond a quick, assessing look before he picked up one of the plates. “He’s very health-conscious. He has been since he started hormone therapy when he was fourteen. Which is how I got stuck with fish to fix my blood pressure,” he added wryly, heading for the table.

Bond glanced at Q. “Illness or life choice?” he asked, though he was leaning towards the latter given the way Q was looking at him.

“He’s intersex. He identifies as male. There were early surgical decisions,” Q added coolly. He sat down at the table and opened his Coke. “At first, he was getting it where he could. He was living on the streets, and the NHS would have complicated things. Eventually, he got onto a proper regimen, and then suddenly he gave up meat and started training for marathons.” With a little laugh, he added, “He claims the stamina lets him dance all night as if he were still twenty.”

Bond smiled back, hiding a careful analysis of Q’s tells behind the shared humour. For a man who was known for being very careful to guard his personal life, Q was being very free with a lot of very personal information. Was it because he trusted Bond? The events of this morning made him think not. Was it because he considered it fair, an exchange of information? Bond hoped not — it felt, if not manipulative, then still faintly discomforting. But Bond doubted that were the case; Q already knew Bond would tell him anything he wanted to know. Didn’t he?

Reminded that there was still a conversation to be had, Bond sat back. He remembered that he still hadn’t responded, and smiled. “He sounds like a he’s a lot of fun. Though I doubt he’d want to share a meal with me. Unless he’d consider it unnatural to deprive a werewolf of his steak.”

Q’s eyes widened. “God, for a werewolf, he might just decide he wasn’t strictly heterosexual.”

Bond laughed as he reached for his coke. “Fortunately for you, I’m not interested in anyone who would want me only for my supernatural side.”

“You say that now.” Q shrugged wryly and picked up his fork to start on his food. “Ex-girlfriends have abandoned me for him more than once.”

Bond looked at Q, surprised. The lack of self-confidence wasn’t something he’d expected from the typically calm, controlled Quartermaster. Well, until today, of course. Bond made a mental note to be no more than politely friendly to the brother if they ever met.

“Sounds like I should be grateful to him, then,” Bond said.

Q’s smile was unreserved. “I can’t tell if you’d love him or hate him. He’s very... unrestrained. He usually doesn’t get on well with military sorts.”

“I’m an unapologetic werewolf and an unapologetic assassin,” Bond said wryly. “It doesn’t sound like we’d get on very well.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He pushed his food around, looking down thoughtfully, before he took another bite. “Does anyone else know?”

“There have been a few over the years,” Bond said with a shrug. “A few people in the Navy, when it first happened. M knew. Not Mallory. A woman I thought I loved once. It’s probably not a good sign that most of them are dead. It’s a hazard of our profession, though, not because of me,” he added, though he didn’t necessarily believe that.

Q couldn’t hide his flinch. “I believe Silva proved just how unsafe this is — and you did handle him, in the end.” He speared a piece of chicken and some vegetables. “How does it affect you, in human form? You’re stronger and faster. By how much?”

“Nothing superhero-like,” Bond said. “Just better than average. I suppose Boothroyd could have run tests, but I never told him.”

With a little laugh, Q said, “That’s probably for the best. If even half the stories are true, I can’t imagine he would have ever let you out of his lab. Worse, he probably would’ve found a way to infect himself.” Then, as he scooped up another morsel, he asked, “Have you ever? Made another werewolf, that is.”

“No. I wouldn’t want to,” Bond said firmly. He folded his hands and looked at Q, scanning for any sign that Q was thinking that such thing seemed attractive after all. “Ever.”

But he seemed curious — intellectually curious — rather than excited by the thought. “The temptation isn’t there to use it in the field, then? To make a partner more effective, for example?”

“It wouldn’t work to my advantage,” Bond said with a frown, remembering the first months after he turned. “It’s painful and confusing and terrifying at first. It takes time, effort, and patience to learn how to control yourself.”

Q set down his fork and reached out to touch Bond’s arm. “Now, though, it’s not? You changed in your sleep.”

“You get used it,” Bond said after a quiet moment, looking down at Q’s hand. “It’s not any less confusing, because new, unexpected things always seem to happen. Like my changing in my sleep next to another person.” He smiled ruefully at Q. “That’s entirely new, I’m afraid.”

Q took a deep breath, avoiding meeting Bond’s eyes. “Would you again? Only if it doesn’t hurt.” He darted a glance at Bond before looking away again. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention this morning.”

It took Bond a moment to understand what Q was asking — not if Bond would shift in his sleep again, but if he would for Q. Now.

“All right,” he said with a smile. He stood and pulled his jacket off. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said with a raised eyebrow as he started unbuttoning his shirt. “I’d rather not ruin my clothes.”

“You don’t have to now,” Q said quickly, nodding at Bond’s plate. “At least eat. You’ve barely touched your food.”

Bond shook his head. “I’d don’t like shifting on a full stomach. It’s... odd. Not exactly uncomfortable, but still...”

“Would you rather wait for another day?” Q glanced down at the table with a guilty flinch. “I know this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend the evening.”

With a gentle roll of his shoulders, Bond pulled off his shirt and laid it on top of the jacket. “It’s fine. You must be incredibly curious. And I don’t mind.” He started on his belt buckle, though he didn’t free it from the belt loops.

Q nodded, looking at Bond’s chest, though his eyes were distant and unfocused. “James...” After a blink, he met Bond’s eyes again. “What happened in Scotland?”

Bond’s hands froze on his waistband for a moment; the hesitation wasn’t long, but it was long enough for Q to notice. “Silva was like me,” he said quietly, completely unable to help the growl that escaped him. “Or something like me. I’m not entirely certain. He wasn’t human, though. Not fully, anyway.” His trousers dropped to the floor, the metal of the buckle clanging loudly in the quiet room. He thought about how bloody _fast_ Silva was, how strong, how he always seemed to be just one step ahead. How wrong he smelled, though Bond hadn’t been able to identify it.

Q turned away and picked up his Coke as if trying to give Bond privacy. “Medical said he should have died, with what... happened to him. The cyanide tooth. You don’t have one, do you?” he asked with a glance at Bond.

“Yes,” Bond said with a shrug. “It was put in long ago. I don’t know if it would work — not much seems to cause me any permanent damage.” He hooked his thumbs in his pants and waited for any more questions before shifting.

“It’s probably — If Silva...” Q trailed off uncomfortably, frowning. “Perhaps you should consider having it removed. I can’t imagine there’s much that could hold you against your will,” he added with a faint smile.

“There is, actually. I’m just fortunate that not many know how.” He thought about some of the places he’d been stuck in, unable to escape thanks to thick walls, overlapping guard patrols, and other factors that could hold him, werewolf or not. “If the cyanide didn’t kill me, it would at least do enough damage for whoever held me to think I was dead. I seem to heal from most things, even if it takes a while. It would buy me time to escape.”

“God, that’s awful,” Q said with a shudder. Then he flinched, eyes going wide. “Not that you’d survive. But to suffer —” He shook his head uncomfortably, suddenly looking like he wanted to escape the room. “I’m sorry. Please, go on.”

“Silva survived, but at great cost. He went mad.” Bond couldn’t help his shudder. “Or maybe I’m just making incorrect assumptions. Perhaps he was mad to begin with. Or perhaps whatever changed him, whatever he was, drove him mad.” Bond frowned, thinking about the months he’d all but convinced himself that _he_ had gone mad, after the change.

“God. We don’t have to —” Q shook his head and picked up his fork, though he put it right back down again. He searched the table as if looking for an excuse to leave, or at least something else to discuss. “I’m sorry. You obviously have this under control. That’s all that matters. We don’t have to... Would you rather just eat dinner?”

“Don’t be sorry. These are very good questions. I tend not to dwell too much on these things.” Bond gave Q a rueful smile. “It may shock you to find that I’m not one for self-reflection. So this is probably good for me.”

“I just don’t like the thought... I understand the realities of field work, but this, in addition to that... It’s terribly unfair.” Then Q laughed humourlessly. “That’s a childish thing to say.”

“I say it often enough, even if just to myself, so don’t feel too badly about it.” Bond smiled at Q. “I suppose, on balance, it really does work out to my advantage. Being stronger, faster, nearly impossible to kill. I’m quite the ideal Double O.”

Q sighed and finally met Bond’s eyes again. “I’m afraid I’ve been an executive just long enough to think much the same thing, even though I know it’s not _right_. I’d say I’ll try not to discuss work for the rest of the night, but... well, as you say, you really are the perfect agent.” Then his cheeks coloured as he glanced down at Bond, still standing there in nothing but his pants, and he quickly turned away to take a drink of his Coke.

Bond laughed, then peeled off his pants. He left them on the floor, then closed his eyes, reaching within himself for the wolf. He knew that for someone watching him, the transformation took mere moments. But to him, it felt much, much longer as he struggled with his own consciousness, his own sense of self, to let the wolf take over. As physical as the transformation seemed for anyone watching, Bond didn’t _feel_ it at all. All he knew was his own struggle to let himself be subsumed by the consciousness of the wolf.

Then, as he fell to the four on four soft paws, he caught a new scent in the air, a moment before the doorbell rang, and Q said, “Oh, shit.”


	4. Dinner Guest

No one ever just stopped by to visit Q. No one but his brother.

“God, that’s Z,” he said, shooting a look at the wolf in his dining nook. Bond’s ears twitched a moment before Q heard Z’s key rattle in the lock. “Shit! Um. Shit,” he said unhelpfully, wondering what to hide first: the wolf, Bond’s clothes, or the evidence of a second dinner.

It was the gun that decided him, mostly because he didn’t want Bond getting upset if Z noticed it. Rushing, Q scooped up the clothes, caught Bond’s holster in his fingers, and brought everything to the nearest cupboard — the one next to the sink. He shoved everything inside just as the front door opened.

“Corvin!” Z shouted, and Q shot Bond another look. Did Bond even know Q’s real name? Suddenly it seemed unthinkable that they’d been intimate, and Q hadn’t even told him that much.

“In the kitchen!” he called back, wondering if he should tell Z that he’d had dinner with someone — a friend, a date — and now he was dog-sitting. But then Z would ask who, and what kind of dog Bond was, and as an animal lover, Z might well realise Bond _wasn’t_ a dog.

Q’s thoughts were still skidding in wild circles when Z walked in, looking like Q’s evil mirror image. Apparently he wasn’t going out tonight, since he was dressed down in ripped jeans and a vintage Ziggy Stardust T-shirt. His hair was spiked up as always, but it wasn’t coloured, even with chalk.

Z grinned, lip piercings flashing in the kitchen light. “There you are. What the fuck — Hey!” he said, dropping a bag of what looked like takeaway on the floor so he could crouch down and hold out his arms to Bond. “Hey, baby. What’re you doing here?”

Bond didn’t immediately move, but backed up a few paces, standing in front of Q. He growled lightly, then looked from Z, to Q, and back again, head swinging comically. He nudged his head against Q’s leg, sat next to him, and looked up. Q wasn’t entirely certain how Bond managed to look chastising in wolf form, but he did all the same.

“Aw, c’mon, baby,” Z coaxed. “Corvin’s the boring one.”

“Z,” Q protested, wondering if it was possible to will himself to death. Z was usually careful not to embarrass Q in front of potential dates — even his date-thieving had been accidental, rather than malicious — but he’d feel no reason to restrain his teasing in front of a pet. He looked down at Bond, thinking it horribly undignified to pet him, but that would be natural if he were a dog. So he tentatively put his hand on Bond’s head and scratched between his ears.

Z huffed and got up enough to shuffle two steps closer, ignoring the abandoned food. “What’s his name? Or her?” he asked, ducking his head and turning to look.

Horrified, Q blurted out, “Him. James.” Then he realised that was probably a ridiculous name for a dog, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“James, huh? Boring,” Z said, holding out one hand for Bond to sniff. “Are you boring, baby?”

Bond hesitated, then put his muzzle forward to sniff at Z’s hand. He licked the fingertips quickly, then turned his head to rest on Q’s thigh again, looking up. His tail thumped against the floor, and he huffed out a breath.

“Z, this isn’t —”

“What breed is he?” Z interrupted, taking the lick as an invitation to scratch at Bond’s chest. “There’s wolf blood in him. Wolf/husky? Wolf/shepherd?”

“I’ve no idea,” Q said, shooting Bond a somewhat desperate look. Maybe werewolves were psychic. Q had no particular talent for lying, but with Bond’s help, he could probably manage _something_.

Finally, Bond moved. He got up and trotted over to the bags Z had dropped and started sniffing at them, causing the plastic to rustle loudly as he investigated the contents. Apparently Z had chosen something spicy this time; Bond had to pull away to sneeze several times before he could finish digging at the food. He looked over at Z expectantly.

Z had been watching with an indulgent smile. Now, he batted at Bond’s tail and said, “Oi! People food. You can share Corvin’s.” He got up and pulled Q into a rough hug, asking, “You okay? You look stressed.”

“I’m — I’m fine. You didn’t have to bring dinner,” Q protested, though he returned the hug, feeling more relaxed just for having Z here, unexpectedly or not. “I stopped on the way home.” An idea struck him, and he picked up Bond’s plate — mostly untouched — and put it on the floor. He couldn’t explain away the second Coke, but at least that was the food taken care of.

“Leftovers for tomorrow, then.” Z ruffled a hand through Bond’s fur and down his back as he picked up the bag he’d brought over. “He’s gorgeous. But I thought you can’t have a dog?”

“He’s a friend’s,” he said, before realizing Z would ask —

“Whose? Did you get a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Z grinned at him over one shoulder as he went to get himself a plate.

Q shot Bond a desperate look. “No. He’s... someone from work. Tanner, the Chief of Staff.”

Bond growled, though the sound lacked any actual menace, then crouched next to the plate. He took a small bite, swallowing without actually chewing, then shot a look between Q and Z. After a moment’s hesitation, he settled on his belly and started to eat the food. Q remembered Bond’s words about not liking to shift on a full stomach, and was certain that Bond was doing this purely to keep Z’s suspicions at bay.

Apparently, their second date was going to be a group outing with Q’s brother chaperoning — and Bond eating his dinner off the floor.

 

~~~

 

They ended up in the den, where Q insisted on crowding Z into one corner of the couch to make room for Bond at the other corner. Not a small wolf, Bond ended up sprawled halfway across Q’s lap, where Z kept trying to feed Bond bits of salad and tofu, and Q finally relaxed enough to stroke a hand over Bond’s fur.

It was a relief to see him relaxed again. He’d been so skittish earlier, stumbling from one uncomfortable line of questioning to another. No wonder why he’d gone to the internet for his information. He really was rubbish at interrogation, and Bond considered suggesting he sit in on some of the basic lectures.

Poor Q. The office Christmas party was probably one of his worst nightmares.

For his part, Bond was rather enjoying the freedom that a complete lack of speech and human body language afforded him. He scooched his body as close to Q’s as he could and nuzzled at Q’s hand whenever it stopped moving. He wanted Q’s hands on him, fingers trailing through his fur. It was oddly soothing and comforting, and Bond couldn’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t encourage Q’s petting skills.

Rather than paying attention to the telly, the twins talked, falling into a pattern of fragmented sentences and shortcut words that Bond couldn’t quite follow. The more they talked, the more Q scratched at Bond’s fur, except when he lifted both hands to sketch something in the air. He laughed, too, that same free, easy laugh he’d had last night, before he’d learned the truth about Bond.

“You should bring James over to meet River,” Z said, catching Bond’s attention.

Q’s pulse jumped, and his hand stilled on Bond’s side. “That — He’s not mine, remember? I don’t know how he is around other dogs,” he said in something of a panic.

Z huffed and reached over to scratch at Bond’s ear, right in that itchy spot that he could never quite get. He hated scratching his ears. It was like kicking himself in the head — inefficient and occasionally painful. “Look at him. If there’s wolf blood in him, it’s probably ten generations back. He must’ve been bred to look like one. This” — he ruffled through the fur under Bond’s jaw — “is a lapdog.”

Q shot Bond a look. “I don’t know if he’s had his shots,” he said desperately, and Bond winced at his tone.

Apparently, Q hadn’t been lying when he said Z was at least a little more perceptive than his twin. Z looked from Bond to Q and asked, “What aren’t you telling me? Did you steal him?”

“No!” Q said, probably unaware that the abrupt, emphatic denial made him look _more_ guilty, not less.

“You did!” Z laughed and nudged at Q’s arm. “From where? Pet store? The fucking zoo?”

Bond huffed at the idea that Q — the Quartermaster of MI6 — would steal an animal from anyone. It was patently ridiculous, and Bond wondered if Z really knew better and was just teasing Q.

He didn’t quite know what to do about it, though. He didn’t have many options in his current form, so he had to content himself with doing nothing more than trying to be as affectionate as possible to Q to prove he wasn’t just a random, recent acquisition. So, as much as he didn’t want to pull away from Z’s obviously practiced canine scratching, he pushed himself forward a bit, settling more fully on Q’s lap, then rolled to show Q his belly. He was certain that canines — especially wild ones — wouldn’t normally do this for someone they’d only just met.

Q slouched down and rubbed both hands over Bond’s belly, scratching all the spots that Bond himself couldn’t reach. “I didn’t steal him,” Q said more calmly — more believably. Then, with a little smile, he added, “Maybe I’ll keep him.”

“I can look after him during the day,” Z offered immediately. “River would probably like the company. Go in late tomorrow. We’ll take them running.” Z reached over and ran a hand over Bond’s ribs. “He’s in good shape. Not overfed at all.”

Q choked on a laugh. “Yes, he is.”

“Is he fixed? He’s not going to try and hump River, is he?”

Q’s laugh turned into a strangled sort of noise. He faltered and finally said, “He’s not mine, remember?”

“I thought you were keeping him.”

“He’s Tanner’s. I can borrow him. He’s much more effective than the aquarium.”

Z rolled his eyes and got up off the couch. “What’d the doctor say, anyway?”

“It’s been a month, Z. They’re fish. Fish can’t accomplish anything in a month,” Q said as Z went over to the aquarium.

“It took what, three months for your new fucking job to almost kill you?”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Q scolded.

Z looked back at him.

“Fine. Don’t be _more_ dramatic.” Q rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Bond. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see when you go back to the doctor,” Z said ominously as he started examining the tank.

“Sleep. That’s part of what the doctor said. I don’t sleep enough.”

“That a hint for me to get the fuck out?”

“Yes.”

Instead of taking offence, Z laughed. “Right.” He walked to the back of the sofa and leaned down to give Q a hug. “You need anything else?”

“I’m fine —”

“Not you.” He leaned further down and ruffled Bond’s fur, then kissed his muzzle. “You be good, James. And if Q’s too boring for you, let me know, and I’ll take you to the park with River.”

“Stop subverting my — wolf,” Q said after a moment’s hesitation.

Bond had to grin at that, letting his mouth hang open and his tongue loll out. He whined because Q had stopped scratching him, then barked quietly at Z as a farewell.

“Yeah, yeah. I can take a hint.” Z gave Q one last hug as he scratched Bond’s side. Then he left, calling, “Tomorrow morning, running!”

“God,” Q muttered, looking down at Bond. Softly, he whispered, “Do you mind?”

Bond actually thought it was a brilliant idea, and he shook his head at Q. The thought of running next to Q, through a park or wherever they usually went, enjoying each other’s company in a physical way without demands or expectations was actually quite attractive. He just hoped that the brother’s dog was a tolerable creature.

“Seven,” Q yelled back, giving Bond a grateful smile.

“Seven!” Z answered, before the front door clicked open and then closed. A moment later, Bond heard Z engage the locks.

Q let out a breath and closed his eyes as his head fell back against the couch. “I’m so sorry. He has a habit of just... showing up.”

For some unfathomable reason, Q had stopped scratching the moment the door latched behind Z. Bond whined and lifted his head to nudge at Q’s hand. He might as well take advantage of the opportunity while he was shifted. Z was right — Bond, while shifted, _was_ a lap dog.

Q’s laugh was soft and relaxed, and he went back to scratching. “You’re worse than River,” he accused fondly. “She’s a saluki. She’s gorgeous. Purebred, very expensive. When Z stole her, she was just a baby, but she already had this horrid trim and perfume, and her toenails were painted. _Pink_. It wasn’t theft — it was rescue. So don’t tell,” he warned, tapping Bond’s muzzle.

Bond huffed out what he hoped Q would recognise as a laugh. Pink toenails on a hyperactive saluki puppy definitely counted as a crime. He gave Q a warm look and nudged closer, wondering how long this could go on before he would have to feel embarrassed about it. He was letting Q scratch him like an actual pet. But it felt too damn good to give it up.

Apparently, Q spent enough time with his brother’s saluki to know how to handle a dog. He leaned over and gave Bond a makeshift hug, and then he went back to finding every itchy, sensitive spot to pet. “Z’s let her fur grow out. She’s, oh, six months old now? Maybe seven?” Q laughed and ran his hand up to Bond’s chest. “He got her a harness with a chest piece — black leather covered with silver spikes, the type of thing you’d see on a guard dog. He’s tried to teach her to growl on command, but she just makes this sort of woo-noise. She doesn’t even have a proper bark. So he _will_ try to steal you, just so there’s someone fierce in the family.”

Bond gave Q a _look_ , thinking that was the most ridiculous part of their conversation so far tonight. He rolled onto his side and shifted even closer to Q, demonstrating exactly who he wanted.

Q laughed and hugged him again. “I’m tempted to suggest you let him try, just so Z can wake up with a strange man in his bed.”

Bond snorted in amusement, licked Q’s ear, and settled against him, letting Q hug him for as long as he wanted. He made a mental note to shift for Q whenever he started to seem upset or overly stressed out. He also wondered which would be better for Q’s blood pressure: sleeping next to a wolf or next to an assassin.

Q grinned. “I take it you agree.” He ran his hand down Bond’s belly and back up to scratch at his chest. “Can you speak in your other form? I did want to see it, if you wouldn’t mind, though you don’t have to. You can stay like this, if you’d rather.”

Bond rolled and huffed out a sigh, wishing he could spare Q the particular incarnation he was asking for. There was nothing cute or playful-looking about him in his half form; he was truly nothing more than an ugly and terrifying creature from a horror movie. But Q’s curiosity had to be satisfied; otherwise he would do more ‘research’ like he had earlier to try and fill in the blanks on his own.

So he rolled off Q’s lap, trotted back several spaces, and released just enough of his consciousness — the little sliver of anchor that he’d ruthlessly suppressed when changing the first time — to feel the change start to happen without him.

Q sat up, watching the shift, and though his eyes went wide, Bond picked up no heavy levels of fear. “That,” Q said slowly, “is _unmistakably_... werewolf.” He got up to his feet, looking Bond over, though he somewhat modestly didn’t let his gaze drop below chest-level. “Can you speak?”

Bond’s growl was low and unhappy. He _could_ speak like this if it was an emergency, but he had comparatively massive fangs. The painful biting of his own tongue didn’t make speech worth it.

“All right,” Q said, reaching out tentatively. “May I touch?”

Bond reached out, despite having unusually long arms, hands, and fingers that ended in razor-like sharpness. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Q, far too afraid of seeing the same fear and flinch reflex he’d seen earlier. Bond would look away, feel the touch, and pretend that Q wasn’t frightened of him.

Q’s fingers gently brushed over Bond’s forearm. The fur was more coarse than in full wolf-form, without the downy-soft undercoat for padding. Q brushed slowly down towards Bond’s hand. When Bond curled his fingers in, hiding his claws, Q brought his other hand up and tried to turn Bond’s hand over. “May I see?”

Bond let his hand be turned, Then, very, very carefully, he started to let his fingers unfurl. He didn’t want to accidentally catch Q’s soft skin, especially because he still wasn’t looking in Q’s direction, too afraid of seeing fear, disgust, or worse.

He allowed Q to examine his hand. He tried to stay relaxed as Q flexed his fingers back so he could see the claws — sharp at the tips and along the inner curve for rending, and blunt along the outer curve for bashing. “Purely physical weapons,” Q said softly. “There’s no means to deliver any sort of toxic or infectious agent. But you only mentioned biting.”

He released Bond’s hand and touched Bond’s chest, carefully examining how his skeletal structure had changed. In this form, Bond’s chest was deeper, his spine curved forward. His hips and legs were the most dramatically changed from human form, but Bond suspected Q wouldn’t look there at all — no surprise, given what he’d read on the internet. It was almost too bad; Bond’s tail was the only ‘normal’ thing about him in this form. Well, his tail and ears. Harmless and fluffy, unlike everything else. This form was unmistakably built for killing.

Q’s hands moved up to Bond’s shoulders. He pressed but couldn’t follow the bones hidden under thick layers of muscle. Then his hands came up further, touching the sides of Bond’s neck. “Can you lean down a bit? You’re much bigger than the laws of physics allow, you know. Of course, there could be some impossible sort of balance between all three forms, since you’re smaller as a wolf. I’d love to get you on a scale to see — or in a bath, to test water displacement in all three forms.”

Bond wasn’t entirely certain he _could_ lean down. He could crouch, probably — that seemed well within his grasp. He sank steadily, letting his powerful leg muscles, rather than gravity, control the speed. It didn’t take long before he was just below eye-level. The touch felt good — much better than he thought it would be. Q was the first one to risk physical contact with Bond during this form.

Q let out a quiet exhale. He never let go of Bond, allowing the movement to draw his hands up to Bond’s ears and the back of his head. He ran his fingers back, asking, “Do you have extra vertebrae? You must. Now I wish I’d paid attention in anatomy class, but mechanical science was always more interesting.” He brought his hands forward again, curling his fingers under Bond’s jawbone, and pressed gently. “Your eyes are still blue. Are you sure you’re not part husky?” he teased. “It’s all right if you’re a mongrel. They make the best pets, you know. No purebred hyperactivity.”

Finally, _finally_ , Bond allowed himself a glance at Q, led by the gentle push on his jaw. He met Q’s gaze, searching it for any sign of revulsion or fear and finding nothing but interest laced with a bit of nervousness. It was far better than anything Bond had expected, and he couldn’t help but stare as Q finished his examination of Bond’s hybrid form.

“I could probably design a gun for you to use like this,” Q said as he picked up Bond’s hand again. “It would be impossible to conceal without at least a rucksack, though. Didn’t Major Boothroyd design a briefcase that could fire bullets? Something like that, with a push-button trigger — unless you’d shred it. I suppose it would have to be metal. Or are your claws stronger than metal? Can you cut steel? Titanium?” he asked more enthusiastically, glancing from Bond’s claws to his face.

Bond watched the last of the nervousness melt from Q’s expression as he began considering weapons and other practical applications. He already knew his improved claws could tear through steel and rusted out metal. He wasn’t really sure about titanium. Of course, there was no way to communicate that back to Q in his present form.

“I could get some samples to test. And body armour. Stab vests. Are your fangs stronger than your claws?” he asked, lifting a hand to touch the underside of Bond’s jaw. “Is the infectious agent in your saliva or... whatever snakes have for their poison? Venom glands? Can you bite without transmission?”

Bond carefully lifted his jaw up and away from Q’s hand, keeping his lips carefully wrapped around his teeth. He didn’t want any chance of infecting Q.

“Sorry.” Q pulled his hand back. “You’re just — Well, obviously, I’ve never seen... And of course now I’m thinking of the practical ways you could simply terrify your targets into compliance. Though getting shot would probably still be uncomfortable. I could design body armour for you, if that would help. It wouldn’t be difficult at all, though I’d want to do motion capture studies, so it wouldn’t interfere with your movement,” he said, enthusiasm returning to his voice as he ran his hands over Bond’s chest and shoulders again. “I wouldn’t have to worry nearly as much about the weight, either. Or concealment. I’m sorry, but even your precious Savile Row tailors aren’t going to be able to work with you like this,” he added with a laugh. “And you’d look ridiculous in a — Oh, _shit_.”

Bond pulled away quickly, clueless about what could have turned Q’s mood but also wanting to know immediately. Q blinked at him, colour rising in his cheeks. He turned away and started gathering up the dinner dishes and empty cans.

“We, ah, have a route we run,” he said, avoiding Bond’s eyes. “Mostly streets, some parks. It’s, er — Well, dogs need to be on a lead.”

Bond didn’t know if horror could show through his current form, but he certainly felt it. Collared and leashed at Q’s hand. He took a breath, feeling it rasp through his expanded lungs. He was just playing pet, he told himself. No one _actually_ wanted to control him or make him look foolish. Finally, he just nodded when Q glanced back at him.

“You don’t have to. I told him you’re Tanner’s — and god, I’m sorry about _that_ , too, but I had no idea what to say. As it was, he didn’t believe me. I can just tell him I took you back. Or you can come —” He cut off with a little wince. “That would be awkward, introducing him to a human named James, the day after having a _wolf_ named James. Shit.” He gave Bond a somewhat despairing look. “How the _hell_ do you spies do this?”

Bond’s laugh wasn’t much more than a reverberation through his chest, but it was there nonetheless. Deciding that Q really was probably done with him, he growled lightly to get Q’s attention and shifted back into his preferred human form. Q watched, a smile appearing on his face, and he shook his head, saying, “That should by all rights be impossible, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Bond said cheerfully, if quietly. “Tell my body I’m not allowed to do that, please?”

Q huffed and glanced down, then flushed again and turned quickly to take the dishes into the kitchen. “Your clothes are in here. I’m sorry about all that, by the way, but... well, that’s my brother.”

“He’s oddly endearing. Very enthusiastic about dogs. I wasn’t expecting a twin, though.” He gave Q a chastising look.

Q laughed as he started loading the dishwasher. “I thought once you reached more than four piercings, it didn’t count anymore. Not that I haven’t been tempted to put him in one of my suits and send him to work,” he added slyly. Then he blinked and quickly said, “You don’t need to mention that to Security.”

“Danielle would figure it out almost immediately,” Bond speculated as he walked up behind Q. He ran a light hand over Q’s spine. “It would take ages for Tanner to figure out.”

“My teams wouldn’t, I’ll bet,” Q said as he shivered, though he didn’t straighten out until the last dish was racked. “He’s just as good with computers as I am. In under a week, they’d be terrified of him.” He pushed the dishwasher closed and turned, wrapping his arms around Bond’s shoulders. “Did you want your clothes?”

Bond turned his head and dipped to bite at Q’s neck. “I think we’re fine without them, don’t you?”

Q hummed in response, holding Bond closer. “If I take you upstairs without them, are you going to get cold and leave fur in the bed tomorrow morning?” he teased. “I don’t mind. You apparently made an excellent pillow.”

“I make an excellent whatever-you-need-me-to-be whenever you need it,” Bond replied, gripping Q’s shoulders more forcefully so he could duck for a hard bite.

Q’s exhale turned into a groan. Fearless despite having seen Bond’s combat form only moments earlier, Q tipped his head back. “Upstairs?” he asked breathily.

Before anything else could happen, Bond pulled Q close and kissed him, trying to show him with body and tongue and affection how much he appreciated how Q had treated him — not with fear or disdain, but as something to be cherished. He kept one arm wrapped around Q’s waist and the other in his hair, holding him still for the kiss.

Q returned the kiss with enthusiasm, pushing into Bond’s arms and away from the counter. He dragged his nails down Bond’s back in a light, shivery scratch. No fear, no hesitation — just the very same interest he’d had last night, before waking to find a wolf in his bed.

“Thank you,” Bond muttered into Q’s shoulder after the kiss ended. “Thank you for not being afraid of me.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Q scolded gently. “Of course I’m afraid of you. I was afraid of you before all this. But I _know_ you won’t hurt me, even if you probably couldn’t even count all the ways to kill someone with what’s around us in this kitchen.” He turned to kiss Bond’s cheek. “I just needed to understand you. That’s all.”

“Bloody genius,” Bond teased. He took Q’s hand and led him towards the staircase. “But I really wish you wouldn’t be afraid. You don’t need to be. At all. All right?”

“Call it healthy respect, then.” Q stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked up at Bond. “I can trust you and understand what you do, at the same time. And it doesn’t change the fact that I want you to be here with me.” He smiled up at Bond, squeezing his hand. “Besides, the more I understand you, the more I want to know you. But I’ll never forget what you are or what you do, even aside from being a werewolf, because it’s a part of you.”

Bond thought about that as he turned to look down at Q. It was a novelty, he decided. Q didn’t want him _because of_ his status as a living weapon, nor in spite of it. Q, with his focus on systems rather than details, saw Bond as a whole — agent, werewolf, man.

This time, when Bond pulled him in for a kiss, it wasn’t rough or demanding. It was savouring, appreciative, and grateful.


	5. A Date in the Park

River was every bit as gorgeous as Q had described. She was still in her puppy stage, growing into long limbs, which meant that she occasionally tripped over herself or banged into obstacles — mostly Z, Q, and Bond.

Of course, Bond confused her. His scent was that of a wolf, but his behaviour was perfectly civilised. As a wolf, he picked up on her subtle body language as she tried, in a sweet but baffled way, to figure him out.

Fortunately, the run distracted her. Q and Z apparently trained for endurance rather than speed, which meant that Bond and River had no difficulty keeping up with them — not that Bond would have done. His fitness as a human carried over into his other forms.

The run through the streets was a long, familiar route, and Bond considered warning Q that a predictable route made him an easy target; an MI6 executive should know better. But there was no need to add to Q’s stress. He hadn’t gone into details about the condition that had Z worried for his health, but Bond could all too easily remember Q throwing himself tirelessly into his work against Silva. And after Silva, Q had never let up. As far as Bond knew, he’d never taken a single day off work, even for illness, and frequently worked longer hours than anyone else in his department.

Running, though... it wasn’t just exercise for Q. Bond watched him carefully, used his wolf sense, to measure if Q was tired, or anxious, or just humouring his brother. But the only thing Bond could detect, once they actually started running, was _joy_. His scent and body language and even his expression, for once, were completely unreserved, and Bond could practically feel the happiness roll off him in waves as he left ordinary tension behind and just focused on the physical.

Determined to give Q every last bit of enjoyment he was capable of offering, Bond decided to make a game of it.

He ran next to Q, ignoring River’s confusion at why Bond didn’t want to play with _her_. He raised his head and yanked on Q’s sleeve at his elbow.

Q grinned down at him without breaking pace. The lead looped around his wrist had been slack since they’d started running. They’d gone out that morning to purchase it and a collar; Q had fretted the whole time until Bond had finally taken the decision into his own hands.

“Almost to the park,” Q said. “Then you can really run.”

“He’s probably faster,” Z answered. “River’s good if she’s got a clear, straight line, but one tree and it’s all over.”

Q laughed, bright and unreserved, and reached down to ruffle Bond’s fur. “Yes, watch out for trees jumping in your path, James,” he warned as they turned the corner and came in sight of the park.

Bond let out a joyful series of barks, then picked up speed to run just out to the front of Q. He kept enough slack on the leash to keep from yanking at Q’s grip, and right before they got to the park entrance, turned his head, while still keeping pace, to give Q a mischievous look he hoped Q knew to take as warning.

“Let me unclip the lead,” Q said.

“You _sure_ he’s not yours?” Z asked suspiciously. “The way you talk to him...”

“I like dogs more than fish.” Q picked up his pace to catch up and fumbled at the collar so he could unclip the lead. Apparently not trusting River’s lack of coordination, Z stopped to do the same for her.

Bond rushed forward several paces, picking up an incredible amount of speed in a short period of time, then spun in the muddy sod to face Q. He crouched on his front legs, wagging his tail wildly, and barked in invitation. It was time for some _fun_.

Q and Z both laughed. While Z nudged at River to get her to play, Q grinned and charged at Bond, trainers skidding on the wet grass. Bond weighed his options — a race, a wrestling match, an obstacle course?

Bond pulled his mouth into the closest thing a wolf could get to a smirk and took off.

The park had a number of interesting features, including benches, bridges, wood paths, and even — oddly enough — a stone sculpture that looked for all the world like a giant dumbbell. Bond tore through the park with just enough speed to make Q work to keep up, racing over benches, under low branches, and even forcing him into a fantastic jump over the dumbbell. It was absolutely exhilarating, and though Q was breathing heavily in an effort to keep up, Bond could still feel the sense of joy and freedom he exuded with every thump of his feet against the ground.

The run with Z had been at a steady, sustainable pace. Now, Q kept up as long as he could, but soon had to stumble to a walk, struggling to catch his breath while laughing. “You’re a cheater, James!” he accused. “You do this madness for a living!”

Bond stopped so fast that he rolled through the mud, and despite landing in a perfect crouch to face Q, he knew there was no saving himself from looking like something of a clumsy oaf. If nothing else, the mud gave it away.

Suddenly, the fact that Q was utterly spotless seemed entirely unreasonable for the exercise they’d just got, and Bond raced at Q, slowing just enough to knock Q into the damp earth without actually injuring him.

Q went down with a startled yelp. His shout of protest — not at all genuine, to judge by his laughter — was muffled by Bond’s damp fur. Instead of scolding, Q wrapped his arms around Bond’s body and tried to wrestle him down, but they were of equal weight, and even in wolf-form Bond was more experienced and agile. He bounded away from Q, avoiding the genius’ lanky arms, only to bounce back when Q fell against the grass with a laugh. He pinned him down with heavy paws on Q’s thin shoulders and licked a playful stripe up the side of his face.

“James!” Q almost squeaked. He shoved fearlessly at Bond’s muzzle and wriggled out from under him. He scrambled to his feet and looked down at his filthy tracksuit. “You’re getting a bath when we get home,” he threatened, grinning.

Bond barked a laugh, letting his tail wag and his tongue loll out the side of his mouth. Then, deciding he wasn’t quite done getting Q messy yet, he trotted over and sat with a heavy thump on Q’s feet. Then he let his stocky, compact body flop heavily onto Q’s legs, once again knocking Q over. Q landed on his arse, and Bond was quick to take advantage of his open lap.

“If your mutt teaches River bad habits...” Z threatened as he and River jogged over at a much more sedate pace.

Hugging Bond, Q grinned back over his shoulder. “Oh, he’s very well trained.” He shot James a hopeful grin that Z couldn’t see and then said, “Get him, James!”

Bond bounded off Q’s lap, careful not to catch him with his claws, and raced at Z. He couldn’t help but bark in amusement as River scrambled backward, out of Bond’s path, leaving Z entirely open to Bond’s attack. He knocked Z’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing into the soft, wet earth, and pinned him to the ground. He let more of his weight rest on Z than he had on Q, and he let out a nicely threatening growl for good measure before sitting happily on Z’s chest, looking to Q for further direction.

Over Z’s demands — “Get off me, mutt!” — Q laughingly said, “Good boy, James,” and held out his arms.

Misinterpreting, River leaped for Q, skidding and tripping over her own feet. Her elegantly long fur splattered rainwater everywhere, and even Bond winced when her long tongue swept out, snake-fast, and caught Q from his jaw to hairline.

A flare of pure, instinctual, jealous possessiveness surged through Bond, and it was only with sharp self-control that Bond managed not pounce on her and rip her throat out. Instead, he jumped off Z’s chest, pushed River off Q’s lap, and stood directly in between them. He growled fiercely at River, then backed up enough so that he flopped into Q’s lap rather than just sat on it.

Q was _his_.

“James!” Q scolded, wrapping his arms around Bond to get him settled more comfortably. “Be nice!”

“Yeah, you’re not ‘dogsitting’,” Z said, catching River by her leather harness to keep her back from Bond. “How long have you had him, brother?”

Q faltered. He looked at James, who decided that, given the fun but serious error of letting sex distract them from coming up with a plan on how to address questions like these, retreat was probably the best option. He swiveled his head and perked his ears up, pretending to have his attention caught by something else, and dove off Q’s lap in chase.

With a laugh that was more than a little relieved, Q scrambled after him. Over his shoulder, he shouted to Z and River, “Come on!”

Thankfully, Z didn’t press the issue, though Bond knew it was just a matter of time. For now, though, the least he could do was give Q a break. Exhausting Z seemed like a good place to start.

 

~~~

 

Freezing, soaked, and filthy, Q led Bond into the foyer, and then caught the leash tightly with a warning, “Not like that! Not unless you like mopping.” He balanced on shaky legs to toe off his trainers, only dropping the leash when he realised he was treating Bond like a particularly smart version of River. “Sorry!”

Bond barked out what Q was fast learning was his version of a laugh, and sat expectantly next to Q, obviously waiting for direction. He didn’t shake his fur or prance around like Q would have expected from River, though he could see the slight tremors of Bond’s skin that meant he was obviously wanting to.

As soon as Q’s muddy trainers were off, he said, “Let me get you a towel. Or would you rather shift back and join me in the shower?”

After a raised eyebrow that looked for all the world like a ‘what do _you_ think?’, Bond shifted back, straightening and snapping back into human form in seconds. Still wearing the collar, now loose around his throat, he looked down at all the mud and water that still clung to him and grimaced. “ _Now_ can I run through the house?”

“James! God, you’ll freeze like that. Go upstairs,” Q said, giving him a push through the foyer door, towards the stairs. “Even wet, your fur’s warmer than naked skin, isn’t it?”

“By quite a bit, actually,” Bond replied as a shudder tore through him. “Meet you upstairs!” he called as he ran up them, taking them two at a time, a glimmer of the playful puppy still clinging to him.

Laughing, Q hung the leash on a coat hook and locked the door. He stopped in the kitchen long enough to put his muddy tracksuit in the washing machine, along with his socks. Then, shivering, he walked after Bond, lacking the energy to actually run one more step today. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a good workout.

The shower was already filling the small bathroom with steam. Q closed the door quickly, made sure there were enough dry towels, and stripped off his pants and watch. He put the watch down beside the collar, thinking this was perhaps the strangest not-kinky date he’d ever had. Then he got in, making Bond flinch at the touch of his cold skin.

Bond ran his hands over Q’s body, gently feeling the muscles underneath. He chuckled and kissed Q behind his ear. “I’ve quite worn you out, haven’t I?” he asked as he reached for the soap. He poured a generous amount in his hand and started washing.

Q turned, using the excuse of letting Bond wash his back to hide his blush. “You’re very fast. But we shouldn’t do that again. Z already suspects _something_. I have no idea what I’m going to tell him.”

“We’ll have to come up with something. That was far, far too much fun to give up.” He stopped his scrub of Q’s upper arms just long enough to hold him for a quick kiss to the neck. “Even if I did confuse the hell out of poor River.”

Q laughed and leaned his head back against Bond’s shoulder, only to straighten up and shake the water out of his eyes. “I hate to say it, but a paper bag once confused River for almost an hour.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bond said with a chuckle. “At least she has beauty going for her. One of these days she’ll learn to control her limbs, I hope.” He knelt as he continued to wash down Q’s body. “Perhaps you could tell him that Tanner decided not to keep me because I like you so much better. You take me to work with you because there is plenty of room in the tunnels for me to hide while you’re working.”

For a moment, Q considered it, but he reluctantly shook his head. “He’d know. He always knows with me, and then he’d start asking even more questions. I don’t suppose you know where I can get a perfectly trained wolf-lookalike, do you?”

Bond turned Q so he could wash the front of Q’s legs. “Afraid not.” He yawned and leaned his head against Q’s knees. “Between last night and this morning, I’m afraid I’m quite worn out,” he said with a chuckle. “Perhaps I’ll think of a suitable not-lie later.”

Q huffed. “Thinking of a story is only half the battle. I’m a mediocre liar at the best of times. To Z...” He shook his head, reaching down to run his hands through Bond’s hair. “We’ll figure something out. Do you want to call in sick and sleep? Or” — he hesitated — “do you want to go home?”

“Tell him that Tanner keeps me most of the time, but I’ve become extremely attached to you. That’s not a lie.” Bond reached up and tugged Q down to his level, arranging him to sit on the tub floor, the water splashing down more like rain. He yawned again and reached behind himself to adjust the water, making it hotter to compensate. “You could even tell him Tanner decided it was for the best because of your blood pressure problem, and because I’ve taken to eyeing his youngest kid like he’s lunch. Ear pulling is a problem.”

There was no sense in explaining. To a trained field agent, deception was as natural as breathing. Q hugged Bond close, thinking that he could get used to this comfortable intimacy. After finding out someone was a werewolf, nothing was awkward anymore. “If you fall asleep in here, you’re going to regret it. It’s not good for your back.”

Bond hummed and started pressing lazy kisses to every part of Q’s skin that he could reach. He paused, mouth open over Q’s shoulder, and chuckled. “I know. Tell him that I’m a Baskerville experiment, and there is more to me than meets the eye, but if you told him, you’d have to kill him.” He laughed again under his breath and dragged his teeth lightly over Q’s skin. “Would that work? You could even explain that I suddenly grew attached, and they had no choice but to let me thoroughly invade your life.”

“Oh, now that’s brilliant,” Q said, sitting up and grinning. “And he knows what goes on there, so he wouldn’t even try to steal you. As long as I could assure him you’re not radioactive or going to spontaneously grow toxic antlers and stab me, he’d be happy.”

“Oi,” Bond protested, pulling Q back against him. He spent a few minutes adjusting Q back into what he apparently thought was the most comfortable position, then settled against him again. He hummed in satisfaction, then yawned. “Excellent. Problem solved. Now for the next question. Do you want to introduce human me to him, or should I shift every time he comes over? I don’t mind keeping our relationship to ourselves, but at some point it’s going to become odd.”

“There’s no point keeping it to ourselves, at least with Z,” Q said, a bit stunned that Bond had been the one to bring up a ‘relationship’ first. Q had expected this sort of talk would be just the right way to drive Bond out of his non-professional life forever. “He always knows, even without the surveillance —” He cut off an instant too late.

Bond stiffened immediately. There was a moment’s silence, filled only with the splatter of water against their bodies. “Do tell,” Bond finally encouraged wryly.

Q sighed, wishing he’d learn when to _stop chatting_ for once. Oh, he was fine with strangers or even acquaintances, but after a certain point of intimacy — say, petting one’s werewolf maybe-boyfriend while in wolf-form — he tended to lose the confidentiality filter on his speech.

“After the Silva incident, Z decided to keep an eye on me,” he said slowly, hoping Bond wasn’t going to make a fuss. Q didn’t want to be forced to choose sides.

“Wise, and fair,” Bond conceded. “Is there surveillance _in_ the flat? Just outside it?”

“Oh, outside only,” Q said, thinking of the entire bloody city and its CCTV coverage, both private and government. “I’m good enough to find anything he might try to plant, and he has absolutely no interest in — well, _us_.”

“How closely does he watch? Would he have noticed a human man and no wolf going in, then a wolf but no human man going out?”

Q tensed. Z might have noticed, but he didn’t actually watch the footage himself; he had computers to do that. “Shit.”

Bond sighed, then reached for the edge of the tub. “Later,” he said with another yawn. “We’re going to take a nap, then you can tell me what to do about it... later.”

Relieved, Q let Bond help him up to his feet. “You nap. I’ll call the office and then take care of Z’s surveillance, at least for now,” he offered. Q was the only hacker Z _couldn’t_ keep out. Z might know someone had been in his servers, but he’d never find a trace of anything Q deleted.

“All right,” Bond agreed as he shut off the water. He stepped out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and handed it to Q before reaching for one for himself. “If you’re done soon, join me? I tend to run at a higher core temperature than the average person — perfect for your sore muscles to warm up against.”

Q laughed, wrapped up in his towel, and leaned in to kiss Bond’s cheek. “All right. Thank you. Will you be human or wolf?”

“Human. Definitely human,” Bond said, running an appreciative hand up Q’s side. Then he yawned again and smiled. “Good luck,” he offered before turning and leaving the bathroom.

Q took a few extra minutes to brush his teeth and set out a spare toothbrush for Bond. He already knew how he’d attack Z’s servers, hopefully with enough speed and subtlety that Z wouldn’t notice until it was too late. Z would know he was hiding _something_ , but any anomalies could be put down to having a pet from Baskerville and a spy for a boyfriend.

His boyfriend, James Bond. Werewolf. Q couldn’t help but laugh at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! We currently have no plans to continue in this 'verse. but it's been fun, sweet, fluffy, and romantic... not to mention a little bit muddy!


End file.
